iilliiiiii! 


liiliiiiil-^ 


■iiiili 


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llllllllllilllilliilillliii!^ 


Ex  Libris 
K.  OGDEN 


THE  TWO   IJ  no  TU  ERS 


I'lKliDK    IT   .IKVN 


I'lKiiiu;  i:i  JKAN 


THE  J\\()  1{IU)T111:KS 


GUV     DE    M  A  I' PASS  A  M 


TliAXSI.ATK  I)     I'.Y    A  I.r.i:  1',  T    SMII'll 


WITH     II.l.l  NTH.VTIO.NS      m 


j:.  1)1  ji:z  and  \.  f.yncii 


IMIlLAnKLPIIlA 

.1       I'.      LI  I'I'I  NCO  rr     COM  I' A. \  Y 

IS  SI) 


coi'Yiiicin  .    1  S,S!l,   Il  Y  J . 


.  I  I'  I'  I  N  C  n  T  T    C  (1  M  I'  A  N  Y 


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■1 

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•  •  •  I  If  I 


^'TViaai 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS 


CHAPTER    I 


"    Botheration!"    rriod    old    M.     Roland,    altiiiptly. 

For  a  (|iiarter  ol  an  iionr  lie  had  slood  motionless,  with  his  (^yos  fixed 
on  the  water,  every  now  and  llicti  (|ui('l!y  lilting  his  line,  A\hi<h  was  sunk 
to    the    hottoin    of  the    sea. 

.Madame  Roland  had  fallen  asleep  al  the  hack  of  the  vessel,  wliere  she 
sat  heside  Madame  Roséniillv,  who  had  come  on  this  fishing  excursion  as 
her    guest.       She.  raised    herself,    and    hirned     lo    hci-    Inishand. 

''   Yes,    Gérôme  ;   what    is    it'   ' 

The   angry    old     fellow     replied    : 

"    I   can't  get  another   hite.      Since   twelve    o'clock    1  have   caught   nothing 


8  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

One  ought   never    to  fish    except  in    the    company  of   men  ;    women    always 
make    you   kite   in  starting." 

His  two  sons,  Pierre  and  Jean,  who  held  lines  wound  round  their 
forefingers,  one  to  larboard  and  the  other  to  starboard,  laughed  in  unison; 
and  Jean    answered    iiim   : 

"   You    are    not   very    polite    to    our  guest,   father." 
M.    Roland    was    disconcerted,    and    made  his  excuses. 

"  1  beg  your  pardon,  Madame  Rosémilly.  That  is  the  kind  of  man 
1  am.  I  invite  ladies  because  I  like  to  be  in  their  company,  and  then, 
when  I  feel  the  water  under  me,    !   think  of  nothing  but  the    fish." 

Madame  Roland  was  now  quite  awake,  and  was  looking  with  a  softened 
expression  at  the  wide   stretch  of  cliffs   and  sea. 
She  murmured  : 

"  You   have   had    a  fine  haul,    nevertheless." 

Her  husband  shook  his  head  in  denial,  al  the  same  time  glancing 
complacently  at  the  basket  where  the  fish  which  the  three  men  luul  caught 
were  still  faintly  ([uivcring,  with  a  pleasant  sound  of  stiffening  scales 
and  starting  fins,  of  weak  and  powerless  efforts,  and  gasping  in  the 
deadly    air. 

M.  l{oland  seized  the  basket  between  his  knees,  tilted  it  up.  turned 
the  stream  of  silver  fish  to  the  brim,  in  order  to  look  at  those  beneath. 
Their  palpitation  increased,  and  the  strong  smell,  full  ol  the  wholesome 
odour   of  sea-water,    rose  up    Irom   the   well-packed  creel. 

The  old  fisherman  eagcilv  iidialed  it,  as  if  he  were  taking  in  the  scent 
of  roses,   and   exclaimed   : 

■  15y   Jove,    they  are   sweet,   and  no    mistake!" 
Then    he   added   : 

■  How    many   of  these    did  you    catch,    doctor?  " 

His  eldest   son,    Pierre,   a   man   of  ihirlv,   wilh   black  whiskers   cut  like   a 
magistrate's,   and   with   shaved   upper   lip    and   chin,   replied   : 
'■   Oh,   very   few.      Tliiee  or    four.  " 
The    father   turned    to    his   younger  son    : 
"  And  you,    Jean?  " 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  9 

Jcnn.  ^vho  was  a  tall  lair  man,  with  a  lari^c-bcai'd,  and  niucli  voniigcr 
liian    his    hrotluT,    sniilcil    as   he    answeied    : 

•   About   as    inanv   as    Pierre;   say   four    or   five." 

They   always    told   the    same  tale,   which   delighted   I\l.    Roland. 

lie  had  wound  his  line  round  the  thole  of  an  oar,  and,  crossing  his 
arms,    exclaimed    : 

"  I  shall  never  try  to  fish  again  after  twelve.  Even  after  ten  it  is  too 
late.      The  beggars  will    not  bite  alter  that;  they  are  basking  in  the  sun!" 

The  worthy  man  surveyed  the  sea  all  round  him  with  the  contented  aii' 
of  a   proprietor. 

fie  was  an  old  Parisian  jeweller,  whom  an  extravagant  love  of  sailing 
and  fishing  luul  templed  from  his  shop  as  soon  as  his  circumstances 
enabled    him    to   live   modestly   on   his    income. 

He  had  retireil  to  Havre,  l)ought  a  fishing  boat,  aiul  become  an  amateur 
sailor.  His  two  sons  rt'mained  at  Paris  in  order  to  complete  their  studies, 
and  from  time  to  time  came  down  on  a  holiday,  to  share  their  father's 
pleasures. 

Pierre,  the  eldest  by  live  years,  having  when  he  left  college  felt  a 
vocation  for  several  professions  one  after  another,  had  successively  made 
trial  of  half  a  dozen,  and,  quickly  disgusted  with  each,  plunged  without 
delay   into   new   ambitions. 

Finally  medicine  had  allured  him,  and  he  had  set  to  work  with  such 
good  will  that  he  had  jusi  received  his  diploma  after  a  somewhat  short 
course  of  study,  and  certain  remissions  of  time  which  he  had  secured  Irom 
the  minister.  He  was  enthusiastic,  intellectual,  changeable,  and  yet  capable 
of  tenacity,   lull    of  philosophical   ideals    and    fancies. 

.lean,  who  was  as  fair  as  his  brother  was  dark,  as  calm  as  his  biolhcr 
was  ardent,  as  gentle  as  his  brother  was  bitter,  had  steadily  gone  through 
his  course  of  legal  study,  and  hail  just  obtained  his  licentiate's  diploma 
when   Pierre   was    made   a   doctor. 

They  hail  come  home  for  a  little  rest,  and  intended  to  settle  in  Havre. 
it  they   could    do   so   to   their  satisfaction. 

But    a     \ague    jealousy,     one    of    those    dormant    jealousies    which     almost 


10  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

insensibly  grow  uj>  hclween  brothers  or  sisters  uiUil  they  reach  maturity, 
and  come  to  a  head  when  one  of  them  marries  or  has  a  piece  of  good 
hick,  kept  them  on  the  alert,  in  a  brotherly  and  harndess  antagonism. 
It  was  certain  that  they  h)ved  each  other,  but  they  watched  one  another 
narrowly.  Pierre,  five  years  old  when  Jean  was  born,  had  regarded 
with  the  hostility  of  a  little  spoiled  animal  the  sudden  appearance  of  this 
otluM"  little  animal  in  the  anus  of  his  father  and  mother,  so  much  caressed 
aiul    loved    by    them. 

Jean  had  l)eeu  a  pattern  of  gentleness,  goodness,  and  e(|uable  temper 
from  his  infancy,  and  Pierre  had  gradually  accustomed  himself  to  hear  the 
ceaseless  puffing  of  ihc  lad  whose  gentleness  seemed  to  him  to  be 
elfeminacy,  his  goodness  simplicity,  and  his  good-humour  mere  blindness, 
liis  parents,  placid  folk,  who  desired  for  their  children  honourable  and 
moderate  positions  in  life,  reproached  him  for  his  indecision,  his  enthusiasm, 
his  abortive  attempts,  and  all  his  futile  approximation  to  generous  ideas 
and    brilliant   professions. 

Since  he  became  a  man  they  no  longer  said  to  him  :  "  Look  at  Jean, 
and  imitate  him!"  But,  whenever  he  heard  :  "  Jean  has  done  so  and  so," 
he  ipiile  understood  the  meaning  and  allusion  concealed  beneath  the  words. 
Their  mother,  a  methodical  woman,  a  somewhat  sentimental  and  thrifty 
dame  ol  the  middle  class,  gifted  with  a  tender  yet  prudent  soul,  was 
always  soothing  away  the  little  rivalries  which  daily  sprang  up  between 
her  two  great  sons,  out  of  all  the  trivialities  of  their  life.  At  this  time, 
moreover,  a  chance  occurrence  was  disturbing  her  to  a  certain  extent. 
During  the  winter  she  had  made  the  acquaintance,  whilst  her  sons  were 
completing  their  several  studies,  of  a  neighbour,  Madame  Rosémilly,  the 
widow  of  a  sea-captain,  who  had  died  at  sea  two  years  before.  The  young 
widow,  only  twenty-three  years  old,  a  determined  woman,  whose  know- 
ledge of  life  came  by  instinct,  as  in  an  animal  which  has  its  liberty,  as  though 
she  had  seen,  passed  through,  understood,  and  taken  the  measure  of  all  that 
could  possibly  happen,  judging  all  in  a  wholesome,  limited,  and  kindly  spirit, 
had  got  into  the  habit  of  coming  to  work  and  gossip  in  the  evenings  with 
the   pleasant   neighbours   who   were   wont   to    give   her   a    cup  of   tea. 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  11 

.M.  Poland,  whose  mania  for  seamanship  was  always  u|)|)cniiost,  used 
to  ask  their  ihw  liiciul  about  tlic  deceased  captain,  and  she  wouKI  speak 
about  him,  about  liis  voyages,  his  oKl  yarns,  without  any  difficulty,  like  a 
sensible   anti  resigned  lady  who  loves  her  life  and   has  respect  for  death. 

The  two  sons,  on  their  reluiti,  liiuling  this  pictty  widow  installed  in 
till-  house,  had  at  once  begun  to  pay  her  attentions,  less  from  the  desire 
to    pleas(^    her    than    IVom    a    wish    to    oust    each    other. 

Their  prudent  and  practical  mother  eagerly  hoped  that  one  of  them 
would  succeed,  for  the  young  widow  was  rich;  but  she  would  have  been 
very    glad    if   the    other    had    proved     to    be    indifierent. 

Madame  liosémilly  was  fair,  with  blue  eyes,  with  a  crown  of  soft 
hair  which  fluttered  at  the  lightest  breath,  and  a  little  swaggering,  bold, 
pugnacious  manner,  which  was  not  at  all  in  agreement  with  the  methodical 
cleverness    of  her    mind. 

She  soon  appealed  to  prefer  Jean,  being  drawn  to  him  by  the  similarity 
of  their  natures.  This  ])reference,  however,  was  displayed  in  a  scarcely 
perceptible  dislinclion  oi  tone  and  glance,  and  in  the  fact  that  she  occasion- 
ally   took    his    advice. 

She  seemed  to  recognize  that  Jean's  opinion  would  confirm  her  own, 
whilst  Pierre's  might  well  be  adverse.  When  she  spoke  of  the  doctor's 
ideas,  political,  aitistic,  j)liilosopliical  or  moral,  she  would  say  :  "  ^'our 
crotchets."  At  such  times  he  would  look  at  her  with  the  chill  aspect 
of  a  magistrate  who  is  conducting  proceedings  against  a  woman — against 
all   women — the   unfortunate   sex! 

Before  the  rcLiiiri  of  his  sons,  M.  Holand  had  never  invited  her  on  his 
fisliing  excuisions.  lie  never  even  took  his  wife,  lor  he  liked  lo  set  out 
beliire  daylight,  with  (lajjlain  Heausii'c,  a  retired  caplain  who  had  made 
long  voyages,  whom  he  had  met  on  the  <piay  when  the  tiile  came  in, 
until  they  became  intinuite  friends,  and  the  old  sailor  l'aj)agi'is,  nicknamed 
Jean-Bart,    whom    he   had   placed    in    charge   of  the    boat. 

One  evening  in  the  previous  week,  as  Madame  Uosémilly,  who  had 
been  dining  with  them,  expressed  her  opinion  that  fishing  must  be  a 
pleasant  occupation,   the   old  jeweller,    llatteieil   on    his   weak   side,    and    fired 


12  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

with    a   wish   to    communicate    his   passion    to    another,    and    to    make    true 
believers   after   the    fashion  of  the   preachers,    exclaimed  : 

"   Would    you    like   to  come?" 

"  Oh,    yes!" 

"  Next  Tuesday?" 

"  Yes,    on   Tuesday  next!" 

"   Are   you   equal   to    setting   out   at    five    in   the   morning?" 

She   gave    a    cry    of  astonishment. 

"■  Oh,    dear  me,    no!  " 

He  was  disappointed  and  chilled,  and  suddenly  iloubled  wliethor  she 
had  a  call  in  ihis  direction.  But  still  lie  asked  her  al  what  time  she 
could   leave. 

"  Oh say   at   nine!  " 

"  Not  before?" 

"  No,   not  before.     Even   that   is   very   early." 

The  worthy  man  hesitated.  They  would  certainly  catch  nothing,  for 
if  the  sun  grows  hot  the  fish  cease  to  bite  ;  but  the  two  brothers  were 
eager  to  arrange  the  party,  to  plan  and  settle  everything  before  they 
separated. 

Accordingly  on  the  following  Tuesday  the  Perle  had  cast  anchor  under 
the  white  rocks  of  cape  La  Hève;  and  they  had  fished  till  midday,  then 
dozed,  then  fished  again,  catching  nothing;  and  M.  Roland,  finding  soon 
afterwards  that  Madame  Rosémilly  as  a  matter  of  fact  only  cared  for  sailing, 
and  perceiving  that  his  lines  were  agitated  no  longer,  had,  in  a  thoughtless 
fit  of  impatience,  uttered  the  energetic — "  Botheration!"  which  was  addressed 
quite   as   much   to   the   indifferent  widow   as  to  the  elusive  fish. 

Now  he  was  gazing  at  his  haul  with  the  trembling  joy  of  a  miser. 
Then  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  sky,  and  observed  that  the  sun  was 
sinking. 

"   Well,    my  lads,"   he    said,    "   shall    we   stand    in   a   bit?" 

They  drew  in  llicir  lines,  wound  llieni  up,  stuck  their  cleaned  hooks 
in    the  corks,   and    stood    ready. 

Roland    had    risen    to    study    llu'    liori/.on    like    a    captain. 


Tin:     TWO     BROTHERS  13 

"  There    is    no   wind    left,"    he   said;    "  wc    must  row,    hoys!" 

And    suddenly,    pointing  towards    the    north,    he    added   : 

"  Stay  a    minute.     There   is    the    Southampton    boat." 

Over  the  level  sea,  stretched  out  like  a  vast  blue  glittering  cloth,  with 
streaks  of  gold  and  of  fire,  a  black  cloud  arose  where  he  pointed,  on 
the  rose-tinted  sky.  And  underneath  the  cloud  appeared  the  vessel,  which 
at   that   distance  looked    a    speck. 

Round  to  the  south  were  other  smokes,  many  in  number,  all  converging 
to  the  pier  of  Havre,  whose  white  line  it  was  difficult  to  make  out,  with 
its    lighthouse,   standing   like    a    horn    upon   the    extremity. 

Roland  asked  : 

"   Is    not  the    Normandie  due   to-day?" 

"  Yes,    father,"  said    Jean. 

"   Give    me  my    glass.      1    think   that    is   she,    out   yonder.  ' 

The  good  man  opened  his  coppcM-  lube,  fixed  it  to  iiis  eye,  made  out 
the    spot,    and    suddenly,    delighted    to   have    seen   it,    cried   : 

"  Ay,  ay,  that  is  she.  I  know  her  by  the  two  funnels.  \^'ill  you 
look,    Mailaiiic    Hosémilly?  " 

She  took  the  instrument,  which  she  puinted  towards  the  steamer,  probably 
without  getting  it  witliin  range,  for  she  coidd  distinguish  nothing,  nothing 
except  a  blue  circle,  with  a  coloured  ring,  a  circular  rainbow,  and  alter  that 
sundrv  odd  spectacles,   as  it  were  eclipses,  Avhich   made  her  heart  jump. 

As  siie    returned   the   telescope   she   said  : 

•■  I  must  tell  you  all  the  same  that  I  never  knew  liow  to  use  that 
instrument.  It  used  to  trouble  my  husband,  who  would  stand  loi-  hours 
at  the    windows,   looking   at    the    passing    ships." 

M.    Roland   replied,    with   some   annoyance  : 

"  It  must  he  due  to  a  defect  in  your  eye,  lor  my  glass  is  an  exccllciil 
one " 

Then   he    offered   it    to    his    wife. 

"   Will    vou    have    a    look?" 

"    No,     thanks,    I     know    hcfoicliaiul     lli:il     I     slioiiKI     iiol     he    .Mr    lo    see." 

Madame    Uolaml,    who     was    a    woman   of   foily-eighl.    ihougli    she    did    not 


14  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

look  it,  appeared  to  enjoy  the  sail  and  the  evening  more  than  any  one  else. 

Her  chestnut  hair  was  just  beginning  to  turn.  She  had  a  calm  and 
sensible  look,  a  hapi)y  and  kindly  appearance,  which  were  good  to  see. 
As  her  son  Pierre  said,  she  knew  the  value  of  money,  which  did  not 
prevent  her  from  indulging  in  dreams.  She  loved  reading,  romance,  and 
poetry,  not  for  their  artistic  value,  but  for  the  melancholy  and  tender 
fancies  which  they  awoke  in  her.  Some  verse  or  other,  often  commonplace, 
often  trashy,  made  the  finer  string  vibrate,  as  she  would  say,  and  gave 
her  the  sensation  of  a  mysterious  desire  all  but  realised.  And  she  took 
delight  in  these  delicate  emotions,  which  somewhat  disturbed  a  mind 
otherwise  as    well   regulated   as  an   account-book. 

Since  coming  to  Havre  she  had  grown  perceptibly  stouter,  and  her 
once   very    supple    and    slender    figure  had   become  somewhat    more    portly. 

This  sea-trip  had  delighted  her.  Her  husband,  who  was  not  ill-natured, 
domineered  over  her  as  the  despots  of  the  counter,  with  whom  a  command 
implies  strong  language,  are  wont  to  domineer,  without  anger  or  ill-will. 
Before  strangers  he  held  himself  in  check,  but  in  the  family  circle  he  gave  way 
to  his  mood,  and  assumed  terrible  airs,  though  he  was  in  fear  of  everybody. 
She,  through  dread  of  noise,  scenes,  and  useless  explanations,  always 
yielded,  and  made  no  demands;  so  that  for  a  long  time  past  she  had 
not  ventured  to  ask  Roland  to  go  out  for  a  sail.  Thus  she  had  joyfully 
seized   this   opportunity,    and  she   appreciated   the   rare   and  novel   pleasure. 

As  soon  as  they  set  out  she  gave  herself  up  completely,  mind  and 
body,  to  the  gentle  gliding  motion  over  the  waves.  She  was  not  thinking; 
she  did  not  meander  amidst  recollections  or  hopes;  it  seemed  as  though 
her  soul  Avas  floating,  like  her  body,  over  a  soft,  flowing,  delicious  stream, 
which  cradled  and   lulled   her. 

When  M.  Roland  gave  orders  to  return,  crying  :  "  Now  then,  take  your 
places  for  a  row!"  she  smiled  as  she  saw  her  sons,  her  two  big  sons, 
throw  off  their  jackets    and   turn   up   tiio    sleeves    of  their  shirts. 

Pierre,  who  was  nearest  to  the  two  women,  took  the  starboard  thwart, 
and  Jean  the  other,  waiting  for  the  "  Row  on,  all!"  of  the  skipper — 
for    he   made   a   point    of  having   every   detail    punctiliously  carried   out. 


THE     TWO     BROTIIF.RS  15 

Both  together,  with  ;i  simultaneous  effort,  they  dropped  their  oars 
inli)  the  water,  then  swung  themselves  baek,  and  pulled  with  all  their 
miirht;  and  thev  vied  with  eaeh  other  to  disijiav  their  slrcMi^tli.  TIh'v  had 
come  out  (]uietiv  under  sail,  hul  the  breeze  had  fallen,  and  the  manly 
|)ride  of  the  hrolhers  was  suddenly  stiniidated  by  the  prospect  of  measuring 
their  strength. 

^^'hen  they  went  fishing  alone  with  their  father,  they  rowed  thus  with 
nobodv  at  the  rudder,  for  Roland  used  to  be  preparing  his  lines,  keeping 
an  eve  on  the  handling  of  the  boat,  which  he  would  direct  by  a  gesture 
or  a  word —  '  Easy,  Jean!  " — or  "  Put  it  on,  Pierre!" — or  "  Now  then, 
bow!  Put  it  on,  stroke!  A  little  more  elbow-grease."  Thus  the  one  who 
was  dreaming  pulled  stronger,  and  he  who  was  lunning  away  with  the 
stroke    slackened    down,    and   the    boat    righted    herseli. 

To-day  they  were  going  to  show  off  their  biceps.  Pierre's  arms  were 
hairy,  somewhat  thin,  but  sinewy;  those  of  Jean  were  thick  and  white, 
with    a    tinge   of   pink,    and    a    nuiss    of   muscles    under    the    skin. 

Pierre  had  the  advantage  at  first.  ^^'ilh  his  clenched  teeth,  knitted 
brow,  outstretched  limbs,  hands  grasping  the  oar.  he  made  it  bend  again 
at  every  stroke,  and  the  Perle  shot  in  towards  the  coast.  The  father, 
seated  in  the  bows,  so  that  he  might  leave  the  stern-seat  for  the  two 
women,  exhausted  himself  with  crying  :  'Gently,  stroke!  Put  it  on, 
bow!"  Stroke  redoubled  his  energy,  and  bow  could  not  respond  to  this 
ill-regulated    pace. 

At  last  the  skipper  cried  :  ■■  Easy  all!"  'i'he  two  blades  were  raised 
siundlaneoiislv.  aiul  J(\m,  at  his  falhei-'s  bidding,  pulled  aloiu'  ior  a  lew 
seconds.  lint  from  this  time  the  adxantage  was  with  him.  lie  todk  Iresh 
life,  and  warmed  to  his  work,  whilst  Pierre,  out  ol  breath,  exhausted  by 
his  vigorous  exertion,  grew  weak,  ami  panted,  f'oiu'  times  running  .M.  Roland 
easied  them  in  order  to  enable  the  eldest  to  get  his  breath,  and  to 
dress  the  boat,  which  was  standing  out  to  sea.  Then  the  doctor,  his 
brow  covered  with  perspiration,  his  cheeks  pale,  angry  aiul  humiliated, 
stammered    out  : 

"    1    (loll  I    know    what's    the    matter    with    me.       I     liav(<    a    spasm    in    the 

3 


16  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

heart.       I     started    off    all    right,    but    this    has    taken    it    <uil    of    my    arms." 

"   Shall    1    scull?  "    Jean    asked    him. 

"   Thanks,    no;    it    will    pass    oil." 

The    mother    said    with    some    annoyance   : 

■'  What  is  the  sense,  Pierre,  of  working  yourself  into  such  a  stale? 
You    arc    no    longer  a    child! 

He   raised    his    shoulders,    and    went    on    rowing. 

Madame  Rosémilly  pretended  not  to  see,  or  understand,  or  hear.  Her 
fair  little  head  thrown  hack  at  every  movement  of  the  boat,  with  a  sharp 
and    captivating  jerk,    which    tossed    the    soft   hair    on   her   temples. 

I3ut  the  father  exclaimed  :  "  Look  out!  The  Piince  Albert  is  running 
us  down!  '  Every  one  looked  at  the  steamer.  The  long,  low  Southampton 
boat,  with  lier  two  funnels  sloping  backwards,  and  her  two  yellow  paddle- 
boxes,  round  like  two  cheeks — the  Southampton  boat  was  coming  up 
at  lull  steam,  laden  with  passengers  under  their  open  umbrellas.  Her 
rushing,  noisy  bows,  cutting  the  water  until  it  fell  again  in  foam,  made 
her  seem  twice  as  speedy  as  she  was,  like  an  ex|)ress-boat;  and  the 
upright  bows,  as  they  cut  the  sea,  raised  two  lliin  transparent  sheets  of 
water    which    glided    along    the    vessel's    sides. 

^^'llcn  it  was  <piile  close  to  the  Pcrlc,  Uoland  raised  his  hat,  ami  the 
two  ladies  waved  their  handkerchiefs,  and  half  a  dozen  umbrellas  responded 
to  these  salutations,  leaning  eagerly  over  the  sides  of  the  steamer  which 
passed    on    its    way,    leaving    behind    it    a    few    slackening    waves. 

Thev  saw  other  shi])s  as  well,  wreathed  in  the  same  way  with  smoke, 
hurrying  in  Irom  all  ptjints  ol  the  hori/on  to  the  short  whilt;  jelty,  which 
sucked  them  in  one  after  another  like  a  mouth.  And  the  fishing  boats 
and  the  big  sailing  vessels  with  their  sleniler  masts  gliding  through  the 
blue,  towed  by  tugs  which  could  hardly  be  discerned,  converged  more 
or  less  rapidiv  towanls  this  devouring  monster,  which  from  time  to  time 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  gorged,  and  shot  out  to  the  open  sea  another 
licet  of  packets,  brigs,  schooners,  three-masters  laden  as  with  a  maze 
of  tree-to|)s.  The  hurrying  steamers  dispersed  to  the  light  and  left, 
or    into    the    level    surface    of    the    ocean;    and    the    sailing    vessels,    cjuilted 


TIIK     TWO     P.noTHRRS  17 

by  llic  tiiy;s  wliicli  liiul  In'owghl  llicni  in,  l•n^\c  niolionlcss,  "whilst  tlioy 
were  being  covcrctl  iVinii  mainsail  to  top-mast  with  white  or  biowii 
cativas,    wliicli    glowed    red    in    the    setting    sun. 

Madame  Uoland,   looking  around    her   with   hall-closed    eyes,    murmured  : 
•   Ah,    this    sea!      How    heautilul    it    is! 

Madame  i\oséniilly  answered  her,  with  a  long-drawn  sigh,  which  had 
nothing    sad    ahoul    it  : 

"   Yes!      Ilul    it    is    very   cruel    sometimes." 

"Look,"  cried  M.  Holand.  ■  there  is  the  Nonnaiulic,  just  going  to 
enter.      What    a    line    ship,    eh?" 

Then  he  pointed  out  the  features  of  the  coast  in  front  of  them, 
from  the  other  side  of  the  estuary  of  the  Seine — twenty  kilonu'tres  across, 
as  he  l<ild  iheui.  He  showed  them  Villerville,  Trouville.  Iloulgale.  Luc, 
Arromamhes,  the  river  of  Caen,  and  the  rocks  of  Calvados,  which  make 
navigation  tiangerous  as  far  as  Cli(>rbourg.  Next  he  spoke  of  the  Seine 
sands,  whirh  aller  their  foian  with  every  tide,  and  even  pu/./.le  liie  |)ilols 
of  (,)uillebœuf,  if  they  do  not  trace  out  tin-  channel  every  day.  He  slunved 
them  how  the  port  of  Havre  divides  the  low  frcuu  the  high  part  of  .\or- 
mandv.  In  lower  Normandy  the  Hat  coast  runs  down  to  the  sea  in 
pasture  land,  meadows,  and  fields.  That  of  higher  Normandy,  on  tlu> 
oilier  hand,  is  peipendicular ,  a  vast  cliff,  scarped,  jagged,  magnificent, 
constituting  an  immense  white  wall,  in  vvliich  evcrv  indentation  conceals 
a  village  or  a  harlioiir.    Llictat,   Fecamp,   Sainl-\'alerv ,    Tréport,    Diepjx',    etc. 

'I'he  two  women  were  not  listening,  for  they  were  absorbeil  in  their 
happiness,  moved  by  the  spectacle  of  the  ocean,  covered  with  ships 
which  dailed  about  like  aniuuds  around  (heir  ilen.  '  licy  were  silent, 
being  overwhelmed  by  the  vast  horizon  of  air  and  water,  reduced  to 
stillness  by  the  soothing  and  splendid  sunset.  Holaiul  alone  continued  to 
talk.  He  was  one  of  those  whom  nothin<ir  can  disturb.  \\  lunen,  with 
more  delicate  nerves,  are  conscious  now  and  then,  hanllv  knowing  why, 
that    the  sound  of  a   iuhh'  voice  can  be   as   irritating  as  an  act  of  coarseness. 

Pierre  and  .lean,  restored  to  calmness,  rowctl  slowlv,  arul  the  Perle, 
a    speck    amongst   the    big    vessels,    was    nearing    the   port. 


18  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

When  she  touched  tlic  quay,  Papagris,  who  was  waiting  for  her, 
took  ihe  hands  of  the  ladies  to  help  them  ashore  ;  and  they  entered  the 
town.  A  numerous  and  quiet  crowd,  the  sort  of  crowd  which  daily 
frequents    the   piers    at    full    tide,    was    returning   at    the    same   time. 

Madame  Roland  and  Madame  Rosémillv  walked  in  front,  followed  by 
the  three  men.  As  they  climbed  the  Rue  de  Paris  they  sto])ped  now 
and  again  before  a  milliner's  or  a  goldsmith's  shop,  to  look  at  a  bonnet 
or    a    jewel;    then,    after  comparing   notes,   they  passed    on    again. 

Opposite  to  the  Place  de  la  Bourse,  Roland,  as  was  his  daily  custom, 
stood  gazing  at  the  Commercial  Dock,  crowded  with  ships,  and  continued 
by  other  docks,  where  the  great  hulls,  side  by  side,  touched  each  other 
in  four  or  five  rows.  Their  countless  masts,  for  a  length  of  several 
kilometres  of  wharves,  with  their  yards,  spars,  and  rigging,  gave  to  this 
channel  in  the  heart  of  the  town  the  appearance  of  a  great  dead  forest. 
And  above  this  leafless  forest  the  sea-gulls  hovered,  waiting  to  swoop 
down  like  a  falling  stone  upon  the  remnants  cast  into  the  water;  and  a 
sailor  lad,  who  was  securing  a  pulley  at  the  end  of  a  mast-head,  seemed 
as    though    he   had    climbed    there    to  look    for    birds'    nests. 

''  W\\l  you  dine  with  us,  without  ceremony,  that  we  may  finish  the 
day    together?"    Madame    Roland    asked   her   friend. 

''  Oh,  yes,  with  pleasure!  1  accej)t  without  ceremony  also.  It  would 
be    melancholy    to   go   home    alone    this    evening." 

Pierre,  who  had  lieard  lliis,  and  whom  the  indifference  of  Madame 
Rosémilly  was  beginning  lo  chill,  muttered  :  "Good!  The  widow  sticks 
to  us.  "  For  some  davs  past  he  had  been  calling  her  "  the  widow." 
This  word,  though  it  said  nothing,  annoyed  Jean  bv  the  tone  in  which 
it   was   said,    for   it    seemed   to   him    ill-natured    and    offensive. 

The  three  men  did  not  speak  again  till  they  came  to  llieir  own  door- 
step. The  house  was  narrow,  made  up  of  a  ground  floor  anil  two  low 
stories,  in  the  Rue  Belle-Normande.  The  maid,  Joséphine,  a  girl  of  nineteen, 
a  cheap  country  servant,  who  had  in  full  measure  the  stony  and  shee])ish 
look  of  the  peasantry,  opened  and  dosed  the  door,  going  up  behind  the 
family   to   the    little    drawing-room   on    the    first  floor. 


/Xi^rmttwr  tf.  '4»f  //m/'i/'.^-  V'  -" 


THE     TWO     lîROTHERS  19 

Tlien    she    said  :    "  There   has    been    a    gentleman    come   three    times! 

M.  ni)Iaiul.  who  rarely  spoke  to  her  willioul  shouting  or  swearing, 
exclaimed  : 

"  \\'\\i)   has    come    three    times — deuce  take    the  girl?" 

She   never    troubled   herself  about   her    niastor's    voice;   so  she  wen  I   on  : 

"   Gentleman    IVoiii    liie   notary." 

"   What  notary?  " 

"   \Miv,    M'sieu   Canu. " 

"   And   what    did    the  gentleman   say?  " 

■•    riial    M  sicu    (]anu    would    coinc*   here   himself  this    evening." 

M.  Lecanu  was  Roland's  notary,  and  in  a  sense  his  friend,  managing  his 
affairs  tor  him.  As  he  had  "ixcn  notice  of  his  evcnino-  visit,  he  nnist 
have  some  urgent  and  iniporlant  imsiuess,  and  the  Uolantls  lookcnl  at  (Mch 
other,  in  some  anxiety  at  the  news,  as  moderately  well-to-do  people  are 
wont  to  be  at  every  appearance  of  a  notary,  which  raises  a  crowd  oi  ideas 
as  to  contracts,  iniu'iitances,  trials,  matters  agreeable  or  alarming.  The 
father    of   the    faudly,    after    a    short    sileiuc,    muttered   : 

"    W'liat    on   eartli    can    he    have    to   say?" 

Madame    Rosémilly   began    to   laugh. 

"   Conu'    now!    this  is  a  legacy.      I    am   sure  ol   it;  1  bring  good   luck.  ' 

l>ut  they  were  not  expecting  liie  death  of  any  one  who  could  U'ave  them 
unylhing. 

Madame  Roland,  who  was  endowed  with  an  excellent  memory  foi'  rela- 
tives, began  to  run  over  all  the  connections  on  her  husband's  siile  and 
on    her    own,    to  follow    up   all    the   tiescents,    and    to    trace   the  cousinships. 

Without    having    so    much    as   taken    of!    her    bonnet,    she   asked    : 

"  Tell  me,  father  " — she  called  her  husband  "  father  "  at  home,  anil 
occasionally  "  M.  Roland  "  before  strangers — ■''  tell  me,  father,  do  you 
remeudjcr   who    married    Joseph    bebru,    after    his   hrst    wife?" 

"  Yes,    a    little  Dumcnil   girl,   ilaughter  of  a    stationer." 

"   WCrc   llicic  any  children?" 

"   I   should  think   there  were.      Four  or   five,   at   least.  " 

"   Oh,    then    there's    nothing    iVum    thai    quarter! 


20  THE     TWO     lîROTlIKRS 

She  was  thenceforth  immersed  in  ihis  quest.  She  clung  to  the  hope 
ol  good  fortune  falling  fioiu  heaven  upon  them.  But  Pierre,  who  loved 
his  mother  very  much,  who  knew  that  she  was  somewhat  imaginative, 
and  dreaded  a  disillusion  for  her.  a  small  vexation  and  sorrow,  if  the 
news   should    be    had    instead    ol    good,    checked    hvv. 

■'  Don't  run  awav  with  an  idea,  mamma:  uncles  from  America  have 
gone    out.      I    rather    think    it    is    about    a    marriage    for   .lean.  " 

FiVervbodv  was  taken  aback  by  this  notion,  and  Jean  was  rather  annoyed 
that  his   brother    should    have   said   such   a    thing  before    Madame   Rosémilly. 

"  Why  for  me  more  than  for  von  ?  The  idea  is  very  unlikelv.  You 
are  the  oldest,  so  that  people  must  have  thought  of  you  first.  And, 
besides,    I    don't    want    lo    marry." 

Pierre    snapped    him    up. 

"   You    are    in    love    then?" 

Jean    replied,    out    of   humour   : 

"   Must    you    be   in   love   to    say   you    dont   want  to    marry   yet?" 

"  Ah,    the   'yet'    alters    the   matter.     You    are    waiting    your    time.  ' 

"   Say    1    am    waiting,    if  you    like." 

But  M.  Roland,  who  had  been  listenin"'  and  thinkino',  suddcnlv  hit 
upon    the    most    likely    idea. 

"  By  Jove!  We  are  very  stupid  to  be  racking  our  brains!  M.  Lecanu 
is  our  friend.  He  knows  that  Pierre  is  looking  for  a  doctor's  connection,  and 
Jean   for  a  lawyer's,   and   he   has   met  with  a  chance  of  settling   one  of  vou." 

It  was    so    simple    and    probable    that    every  one    agreed    about    it. 

''   Dinner's    ready,  "    said    the    maid. 

They    went    to    their   rooms    to    wash   their    hands    before     silting    down. 

Ten     minutes    later    they    were    dining   on    the   ground    floor. 

At  first  there  was  hardly  any  conversation,  bul  aflcr  a  time  Roland 
was    puzzling   himself  over    the    notary's    visit. 

"  Xow,  why  did  he  not  write?  \Miy  did  he  send  his  clerk  three 
times?      Why    is  he    coming   himself." 

Pierre  thought   llial    natural   enouoh. 

"   No    doubt    he    wauls    an     immediale    answer.       Perhaps    he    has    confi- 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  21 

(loiilial     coiKlitioiis     to     li-ll     us     of,    siirii    as    one    docs    not    care    to    write. " 

I5ut  all  loiii'  were  preoeeiipietl,  and  rallier  put  out  at  liavint;  invited 
a    stranger,     who    woidd    interfere     with    thcMr    chsenssion. 

They    had    just    rt-turnetl     to     the    drawing-room     when    ihe     notai'v    was 
annoiniced.        Uolanil    jumped    up. 
■    (joo(.l    tiay.     my    deal-    .Mailri'. 

lie  gave  .M.  Leeanu  the  title  of  "  Mailre.  '  which  is  prefixed  lo  the 
name    of    all    notaries. 

IMadamc    Uosémillv     rose. 

"    I    must    go.      I    feel    very    tired." 

They  maile  a  feehle  attempt  to  keep  liei',  hut  she  would  not  he  per- 
suaded, and  went  away  without  either  of  the  men  escorting  her,  as  their 
custom    was. 

Madame    l^oland    hustled    up    to    the    visitor   : 

''   \    cup    of    coffee,     Monsieur.' 

"     Thank     vou,    no.      I     Iia\e     |ust    had     ni\'    dinner.  ' 

"    .\    cup    of  tea    then?  " 

•■    I     will     not    refuse — hut    hy    and    hv.      First    we     nnist    talk     husiness." 

In  the  profound  silence  which  lollowcd  these  words,  nothing  was  heard 
hut  the  regular  swinging  of  the  pendidum.  ami  on  the  Moor  helow.  the 
noise  of  the  dislies  as  thev  were  heing  washed  hy  the  maid — who  was  too 
slu|)id    e\cn    lo    listen    at    tloors.       fhcii     the    notary   continued    : 

''   Did    you    know     at     i'aris    a    certain    M.    Maréchal — J.,éon    Maréchal.'" 

M.     Itoland    and    his    wife    uttered     the    sanu'    exclamation. 

■  "    I  ndccd     we     dul  ! 

''    He    was    a    Incnd    n\    yours.'" 

I'liiland    cxchiiuu'd    : 

'■  Ihc  hest  ol  Iriends,  sir,  hut  an  ohstinate  Parisian;  he  never  ipiils 
the  Boulevard.  lie  is  head  of  a  department  al  (he  Treasury.  I  have 
never  seen  him  since  I  left  the  capital.  And  llicn  w  (>  ceased  to  write 
to    eaih     oliici-        W  hen    we    li\('    a!    a    distance,    yon     see 

The    notary   gravely    adtled   : 

"    .M.     .Maréchal     is    dead!  " 


22  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

Husband  and  wife  made  the  same  little  movement  of  surprise  and 
sorrow,  real  or  feigned,  hut  always  ([uick,  with  which  one  generally 
receives    such   news. 

M.    Lecanu    went   on  : 

"My  colleague  in  Paris  has  just  informed  me  of  the  chief  disposition 
of  his  will,  by  which  he  constitutes  your  son  Jean,  M.  Jean  Roland,  his 
sole  heir." 

The  astonishment    was    so  great    that   no   one   had    a    word  to    say. 

Madame  Roland  was  the  first  to  get  the  better  of  her  emotion,  and 
murmured  : 

"  Oh,   dear,   poor  Léon!       Our   poor  friend dear,    dear! He   is 

dead  !" 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  silent,  womanly  tears,  tears  of  grief, 
risino-  from  the  soul,  and  trickling-  down  the  cheeks,  which  seem  so 
charged    with    sorrow,    and    are    so    transparent. 

But  Roland  thought  less  of  the  sadness  of  this  loss  than  of  the 
hope  which  had  been  born  in  him.  Ile  dare  not,  however,  ask  at  once 
about  the  conditions  of  the  will,  or  the  amount  of  the  fortune.  But  to 
get   nearer  to    the   interesting   subject,    he   asked   : 

"  What    was  the  cause  of  poor   Maréchal's    death?" 

M.    Lecanu    iiad    no    idea. 

"  All  I  know,"  he  said,  "  is  that,  dying  without  direct  heirs,  he 
leaves  the  whole  of  his  fortune,  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year  in  the  Three 
per  Cents,  to  your  second  son,  whom  he  saw  growing  up  IVoui  his  birth, 
and  whom  he  considers  worthy  of  this  bequest.  In  case  .M.  Jean  should 
not    accept    it,    the    inheritance    would   pass    to    the    Foundlings." 

M.    Roland    could    no   longer    hide    his    joy,    and   cried    : 

''By  Jupiter,  that  was  a  kiiul  thought  !  1  am  sure,  if  I  had  had  no 
children,    I   should    not   have    forgotten    that    dear    friend   of   mine!" 

The    notary   smiled. 

-    1     have    been    very    glad,"     he    said,     "    to    tell    you    this    myself.      It 
always  gives   one   pleasure  to  bring  people  good    news." 

He  had    not    so  much    as    thought  that   this   good    news    was   the    death 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  23 

f)f  a  fVieiuI.  Udlaiul's  Ix'st  frieiul.  wlio  liad  liimscU'  jiisi  forgoltcii  in  a» 
instant    l\\v    rriendslii|)    which    he-    had   pi'cviunsly    declared   so    emphatically. 

Madame  Roland  and  her  sons  still  looked  sad.  She  continued  to  weep 
a  little,  drying  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  which  she  pressed  to  her 
lips    in    order    to    keep    back    her   deep    sighs. 

The    doctor    inuiiiiiiicd    : 

"  He  was  a  good  fellow,  and  very  affectionate.  He  used  frequently 
to   invite    my    brother    and    me   to    dinner." 

Jean,  with  wide  open  and  shining  eyes,  held  his  light  beard  with 
his  right  hand — a  familiar  trick — and  passed  il  llnongh  to  the  end  of  the 
hair,    as    if    to   lengthen    and    soften    it. 

Twice  he  parted  his  lips,  in  order  to  add  a  becoming  phrase,  and, 
after    searching   for   one    a    long    time,    could   only   say   : 

"Truly,  he  was  very  fond  of  me.  He  always  embraced  me  when 
I    went    to    see  him." 

Hut  the  father's  thoughts  were  running  far  ahead;  they  ran  all  round 
the  inheritance  which  had  been  announced  to  them,  which  was  already 
secured — this  money  waiting  at  the  door,  ready  to  enter,  to-morrow,  as 
soon    as    it    was    accepted. 

"  There  is  no  chance  of  impediment?"  he  asked,    "  no  lawsuit? no 

contesting?  " 

M.   Lecanu    appeared  to   be    Iree  from    anxiety. 

"  No  ;  my  Paris  colleague  describes  the  position  of  affairs  as  very 
simple.      All   we    want   is  iM.    .lean's   formal    acceptance." 

"  Then    it    is    perfectly    straight.      And    this   fortune    is    nneiuumbered?  " 

"   Quite   unencumbered.' 

"  .VII    formalities  observed?" 

"  All." 

Suddenly  the  retired  jeweller  was  a  little  ashamed,  vaguely,  instinctively, 
momentarily  ashamed  of  his  hurry  to  learn  the  particulars,  and  he  con- 
tinued  : 

"  You  quite  understand  that  if  I  have  asked  at  once  about  .ill  these 
matters,    it    is    to    save    my    son     ironi     troubles     which    he     might     not    have 


24  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

foreseen.  Sometimes  there  are  debts,  a  comjilicated  state  of  affairs,  Heaven 
knows  Avlial  !  And  tlien  it  is  like  plunging'  into  a  maze  of  brambles.  In 
short,    I    am    not    the    heir,    but   I    think   of  the    ehild    before    all." 

They  always  called  Jean  "the  child"  at  home,  though  he  was  much 
taller   than   Pierre. 

Madame  Roland  seemed  to  i)e  waking  bom  a  dream,  and  recalling  a 
far-away,  almost  forgotten  circumstance,  which  she  had  heard  in  other 
days,  and  of  which  she  was  not  quite  assured.    She  suddenly  stammered  out  : 

■'  Were  you  not  saying  that  our  poor  Maréchal  had  left  his  fortune 
to    my    little   Jean?  " 

"  Yes,    Madame." 

Then    she  went   on,   ingenuously   : 

"   This    is    a    great    pleasure    to    me,    for    it    proves    that    he    loved    us." 

Roland  had   risen    to  his    feet. 

"  Do  you  wish,  my  dear  Maître,  that  my  son  should  sign  his  accept- 
ance   at   once?  ' 

"  No,  no,  M.  Roland.  To-morrow;  to-morrow  in  my  office,  at  two 
o'clock,    if  that  is    convenient." 

"   Oh,   yes,   of  course,   it  will    be  convenient! 

Then  Madame  Roland,  who  had  also  risen,  and  who  was  smiling  after 
her  tears,  took  two  steps  to  the  notary,  rested  her  hand  on  the  back 
of  his  chair,  and  looking  at  him  with  the  tender  aspect  of  a  grateful 
mother,    said   : 

"   And   now   for  that   cup    of  tea,    M.    Lecanu?  " 

"   Now    I   shall    be   very  glad    of  it,   Madame. 

The  maid,  being  summoned,  brought  in  the  first  place  some  dry  biscuits 
in  deep  tin  boxes — those  stale  and  brittle  English  biscuits,  which  seem 
as  if  they  had  been  baked  to  suit  the  beaks  of  parrots,  and  soldered  up 
in  metal  bo.\es  for  a  voyage  round  the  world.  Then  she  went  in  search 
of  some  unbleached  napkins,  folded  in  little  squares — tea-napkins,  which  are 
rarelv  washed  in  pool  households.  She  returned  a  third  time  with  the 
sugar-basin  and  the  cups  Then  she  went  off  to  boil  the  water.  And 
then    they    waited. 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  25 

Nobody  could  speak;  lliey  had  too  much  to  tliiiik  about,  and  nothing 
to  say.  Madame  Roland  alone  tried  to  utter  trivial  phrases.  She  described 
the  fishing  excursion,  sang  the  praises  of  the  Perle,  and  of  Madame 
Rosémilly. 

"  Delightful,    very    delightful,  "   said   the    notary    from    time    to    time. 

Roland,  leaning  with  his  back  against  the  chimney-piece,  as  a  man 
leans  in  winlcr,  when  there  is  a  fire  in  the  grate,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  his  lips  purseil  as  if  to  whistle,  couhl  not  keep  still,  tor- 
tured   by    an    overmastering    desire    to   give    rein    to   his    joy. 

The  two  brothers,  in  two  similar  arm-chairs,  with  their  legs  crossed 
in  the  same  fashion,  right  and  left  of  the  centre  table,  wei'e  staring  fixedly 
in  front  of  them.  Their  attitudes  were  the  same,  but  the  expression  was 
very  di lièrent. 

At  length  the  tea  made  its  appearance.  The  notary  took  a  cup, 
sweetened  anil  drank  it,  after  softening  a  little  biscuit  too  hard  lo  be 
bitten.      Then    he   got    up,    shook    hands,    and   departed. 

"  It  is   understood,   then,  "  Roland   reminded  him,    "  to-morrow   at  two." 

"Yes,    it    is   understood;    two,    to-morrow." 

Jean    had    not    said    a    word. 

After  lie  had  gone,  there  was  silence  again.  Then  Roland  came  and 
slapped    his  hand    on    his   younger   son's    shoulder,    and    cried   : 

"Well,    you    lucky   rascal,    you    don't   embrace    me?" 

Jean    smiled,    and    embraced    his    father,    saying  : 

"  It   (lid    not   occur   to    me   as    necessary! 

But  the  old  fellow  could  no  longer  restrain  his  merry  humour.  He 
walked  alioni,  played  the  piano  on  the  furniture  with  his  clumsy  lingers, 
balanced    himself  on    his    toes,    and    kept   on    saying  : 

"What    luck!     What   luck!      Here's    a    stroke   of  luck!" 

Pierre   asked    him    a    question. 

"You    knew    this    Maréchal    very    well,    then,    in    old    days?" 

The   father    answered  : 

"  Why,  you  see,  he  used  to  spend  every  evening  at  our  house.  Hut 
you    remember    that    he    used    to   fetch    you    from    college,    when    you    luul 


26  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

a  holiday,  and  often  took  you  back  after  dinner.  All,  I  recollect,  on  the 
very  tlay  of  Jean's  birth  it  was  he  who  went  for  the  doctor.  lie  had 
been  dining  with  us  when  your  mother  was  taken  ill  ,  and  set  off  at  a 
run.  In  his  hurry  he  took  my  hat  instead  of  his  own.  1  remember  that, 
because  we  had  a  hearty  laugh  over  it,  later  on.  Perhaps  he  recalled 
this  detail  on  his  death-bed,  and  as  he  had  no  heir  of  his  own,  he  said  : 
'Happy  thought!  I  had  a  hand  in  the  birth  of  that  youngster,  and  1  will 
leave  him    my    money!'" 

Madame  Roland,  buried  in  her  low  chair,  seemed  to  have  been  lost 
in    her   recollections. 

She  murmured   now,   like    one  thinking    aloud  : 

"Oh,  he  was  a  good  friend,  devoted,  faithful,  a  man  in  a  thousand 
in    these    days!  " 

Jean   had    risen. 

"I'm   going   for    a  walk,"    he    said. 

His  father  was  astonished,  and  tried  to  detain  him;  for  they  must 
talk  things  over,  make  their  plans,  and  form  their  decisions.  But  the 
young  man  was  obstinate,  and  pretended  that  he  had  an  engagement. 
Besides,  there  would  be  plenty  of  time  to  arrive  at  an  understanding 
before   they   came   into   the    inheritance. 

So  he  went  off;  for  he  wanted  to  be  alone  and  think.  Pierre,  in  his 
turn,  declared  that  he  was  going  out,  and  after  a  few  minutes  he  fol- 
lowed   his   brother. 

As  soon  as  he  was  alone  with  his  wife,  M.  Roland  seized  her  in 
his  arms,  kissed  her  twice  on  each  cheek,  and,  by  way  of  answer  to  a 
reproach   which    she  often    launched    at   him,    said  : 

"  You  see,  my  love,  that  it  would  have  done  me  no  good  to  slay  in 
Paris  any  longer,  to  drudge  for  the  children,  instead  of  coming  here 
and    setting   up    my    health;    for    good    luck    falls   on    us    from    the    skies." 

She    had   become    quite   serious    now. 

"It   falls    from    the    skies  for  Jean,"    she  said.     "But,    Pierre?" 

"  Pierre!  Oh,  he  is  a  doctor,  and  will  make  money.  And  then  his 
brother    is    sure   to  do    something  for    him." 


TMK     TWO     BROTHERS 


27 


"No;  he  would  not  accept  it.  And  then,  this  legacy  is  Jean's — only 
Jean's.        Pierre   is    placed    at    a    great    disadvantage    by    this." 

The    good    man    was    perplexed. 

"  Then    we    will   leave    him    a    little   more   in    my    will." 

"  No,    that   is    not  just  either!  " 

"  Bother  take  it,  then!"  he  cried.  "What  would  you  have  me  do?  You 
arc  always  on  the  look-out  lor  unpleasant  ideas.  You  must  spoil 
all  my  pleasures.  There,  1  am  going  to  bed.  Good  night.  All  the  same 
this    is   a    stroke  of   luck,    a   famous   stroke!  " 

And  he  departed,  overjoyed  in  spite  of  all,  and  without  a  word  of 
regret   for   the    generous    friend   who  was    no    more. 

Madame   Roland    resumed    her   reverie,    beside    the   smouldering  lamp. 


II 


r^i^yW 


CHAPTER    II. 


As  soon  as  he  was  outside,  Pierre  turnetl  liis  steps  towards  the  Rue  de 
Paris,  the  luaiu  street  of  Havre,  wliieh  was  lighted  u]),  auinuited,  uoisy. 
Tlie  fresh  l)reeze  hy  the  sea-side  fanned  his  face,  and  he  walked  slowly 
with   his   cane    under    his    arm,    and    his    hands    behind   his    hack. 

He  fell  ill  at  ease,  depressed,  dissatisfied,  as  one  ieels  when  one  has 
heard  a  piece  of  had  news.  No  definite  thouglit  afllicted  him,  and  lie 
would  have  l)een  at  a  loss  to  say  at  once  how  this  heaviness  of  soul  ami 
numbness  of  hodv  had  lallcti  upon  hiui.  lie  was  wrong  somewhere,  without 
knowing  where;  he  had  a  litlle  centre  of  pain,  one  of  those  almost  insensible 
wounds  which  we  cainiol  localise,  liul  which  trouble  us,  weary,  sadden, 
irritate   us;   a   strange,   light  suffering,   as   it  were  a   germ   of  sorrow. 

When  he  reached  the  Place  du  Théâtre,  he  was  attracted  by  the  lights 
<)l    the   Cafe   TorLoui,    ami    sliolled    slowly  to  the   illiiuiiualetl  farddc  :   but,    as 


32  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

he  was  about  to  enter,  he  thought  that  he  woukl  be  sure  to  fliid  friends 
and  acquaintances  there,  with  whom  he  would  have  to  talk  ;  and  a  prompt 
repugnance  came  upon  him  against  this  petty  comradeship  of  small  cups 
and  half-glasses.  Therefore,  retracing  his  steps,  he  followed  the  main 
street  leading  to   the  port. 

"Where  shall  1  go?"  he  asked  himself,  looking  about  for  a  place  to 
his  mind,  in  keeping  with  his  present  mood.  He  could  not  find  one,  for 
he   longed   to   be   alone,   and   did   not   want    to   meet   any  one. 

Coming  to  the  great  quay,  he  hesitated  again,  and  then  turned  towards 
the    pier.      He   had   made   up   his   mind   for   solitude. 

As  he  brushed  up  against  a  bench  on  the  breakwater,  he  sat  down, 
already  tired  of  walking,  and  disgusted  with  his  walk  before  he  had 
taken   it. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  me?"  he  asked  himself.  And  he  searched 
his  memory  for  any  vexation  which  might  have  occurred  to  him,  as  one 
questions   a   sick   person   to    find   out   the   reason   for   his   disorder. 

His  mind  was  at  the  same  time  excitable  and  prudent  ;  he  rushed  into 
a  business,  and  then  began  to  reason,  approving  or  condemning  his  impulse; 
but  with  him  the  original  disposition  was  strongest  in  the  end,  and  the 
man   of  sentiment   prevailed   over   the   intellectual    man. 

So  he  sought  for  the  origin  of  this  disturbance  of  nerve,  this  craving 
for  motion  without  any  particular  wish,  this  desire  to  meet  some  one  in 
order  to  change  the  current  of  his  mind,  and  again  this  distaste  for  those 
he  was  likely  to  meet,  and  for  the  things  they  were  likely  to  say  to  him. 

Then  he  put  to  himself  this  question  :  Could  Jean's  legacy  be  the 
cause  ? 

Well,    that   was   possible,    after   all. 

When  the  notary  had  announced  the  news,  he  had  felt  his  heart  beat 
a  little  faster.  Certainly  we  are  not  always  our  own  masters,  and  we 
are  subject  to  spontaneous  and  persistent  emotions,  against  which  we 
strive    in    vain. 

He  began  to  rcllect  deeply  on  this  physiological  problem  of  the  impres- 
sions   produced    by    some    event    on    a    creature    of    instinct,    and    forming 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  33 


witliin  him  a  cuncnt  of  ideas  and  sensations,  whether  painful  or  pleasant. 
different  fi'ini  those  which  ihc  man  of  reflcetion ,  who  has  mastered 
himsell  l>v  llic  (ultiire  of  his  intellect,  desires,  or  summons  up,  or  deems 
good  and  wholesome. 

He  tried  to  conceive  the  state  of  mind  of  a  son  who  inherits  a  large 
fortune,  who  by  its  aid  is  about  to  enjoy  many  pleasures  which  he  has 
long  desired — which  had  been  forbidden  by  the  avarice  of  a  father,  who 
was    still    lovetl    and    regretted. 

He  got  uji  and  began  to  walk  again  towards  the  end  of  the  pier. 
lie  felt  better,  content  with  having  understood,  having  detected  himself, 
and  stripped  the  veil  from  thai  second  self  which  there  is  in  all  ol  us. 
"So  [  have  been  jealous  of  Jean,"  he  thought.  "That  is  mean  enough, 
truly  !  I  am  sure  of  it  now,  because  liie  lirst  idea  which  entered  my 
mind  was  that  of  his  marriage  to  Madame  Uosémilly.  And  yet  1  ihm  I 
care  fcii-  lliat  little  calculating  cocpiette,  just  cut  out  to  disenchant  one 
with  common  sense  aiul  |)rudcnce.  So  it  was  groundless  jealousy,  jealousy 
in  tile  abstract,  with  no  reason  for  its  existence.  I  must  be  on  my  guard 
against  that  ! 

He  reachetl  the  signal-j)ost  which  shows  the  height  of  the  water  in  the 
harbour,  and  lighted  a  match  in  order  to  read  the  list  of  ships  signalled 
in  the  open,  whicii  were  to  enter  at  the  next  high  tide.  Steamers  were 
expected  from  Brazil,  La  Plata,  CJiili,  and  .lapan,  two  Danish  brigs,  a 
Norwegian  scho(uier,  and  a  Turkish  steam-packet — which  surprised  Pierre 
almost  as  much  as  il'  he  had  icatl  "a  Swiss  steamer" — and  he  saw,  as 
it  were,  in  a  sort  of  absurd  dream,  a  big  ship  laden  with  turbaned  men, 
climbing   the    rigging   in    their   baggy    trousers. 

"Stupid,"  he  thought.  "The  Turks  are  sailors  all  the  same." 
.\(tei-  talking  a  lew  more  steps,  he  pauseil  to  look  round  on  the  roadstead. 
On  the  light,  undei-  Sainte-Adresse ,  the  two  electric  lights  of  Cape  la 
Hcvc,  like  two  monstrous  twin  Cyclops,  threw  their  long  and  powerful 
glances  across  the  sea.  The  two  parallel  rays,  pouring  from  two  neigh- 
lioiiiin^  hinlcrns,  lil^e  the  vast  liiils  n\'  two  comets,  descciuled  by  a  stiaight 
ami    i-egiiliir    sl()p<>    iVoni    the    suniinit    ol    the    <-oast    to    the    extremity    ol    the 


34  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

horizon.  Then  two  other  lights  from  the  two  piers,  the  children  of  these 
giants,  indicated  the  entrance  to  the  harbour;  and  below,  on  the  other 
bank  of  the  Seine,  others  were  to  be  seen,  many  others,  fixed  or  revolving, 
flashing  and  eclijjsing,  opening  and  closing  like  eyes — the  eyes  of  the 
several  ports,  yellow,  red,  green,  watching  the  dark  ocean  covered  with 
ships,  the  living  eyes  of  the  hospitable  land,  saying,  if  only  by  the  unvarying 
and  regular  mechanic  motion  of  their  eyelids  : 

"  Here  I  am.  1  am  Trouville,  I  am  Honfleur,  I  am  the  estuary  of  Pont- 
Audemer.  " 

And  towering  over  all  the  rest,  so  high  that  one  might  take  it,  at 
such  a  distance,  for  a  planet,  the  lofty  light  of  Etouville  showed  the 
channel  to  Rouen,  through  the  sand-banks  in  the  estuary  of  the  mighty  river. 

Then  again,  on  the  deep  water,  the  limitless  water,  more  gloomy  than 
liie  sky,  he  fancied  that  he  saw  other  stars,  sprinkled  about.  They 
trembled  in  the  haze  of  night,  small,  whether  near  or  far  off,  white,  green, 
and  red.  Almost  all  of  them  were  motionless;  yet  some  appeared  to  move. 
These  were  the  lights  of  the  ships  at  anchor,  awaiting  the  tide,  or  of 
moving   ships,    which   were    making    for   an    anchorage. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  moon  rose  behind  the  town  ;  and  she  looked 
like  a  vast  divine  Canopus,  lit  up  in  the  firmament  to  guide  the  innu- 
merable  ileet  of  the   actual   stars. 

Pierre   murmured,    almost   aloud   : 

"Ah!       And   we   put   ourselves   about    for   the   sake    of  twopence!" 

Suddenly,  close  to  him,  in  the  broad  black  channel  between  the  piers, 
a  shadow,  an  enormous  and  fantastic  shadow,  glided  by.  Leaning  over 
the  parapet  of  granite,  he  saw  a  fishing  boat  which  was  returning  to  port, 
without  a  sound  from  voice,  or  waA'e,  or  oar,  gently  propelled  by  its  high 
brown  sail,   spread  to  catch  the  breeze  from  the  open  sea. 

lie  thought  :  "If  one  could  only  live  on  that  sea,  hoAV  calmly  one 
might   live  !  " 

And  then,  after  a  few  more  steps,  he  became  aware  of  a  man  seated 
at   the   end   of  the  jetty. 

A   dreamer,   a    lover,   a    sage — happy   or   sorrowful  ?      Who   was    it  ?      He 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  35 

approached,  curious  to  see  the  face  of  the  solitary  ;  and  he  recognized 
his    brother. 

''  Why,    is    it  you,    Jean  ?  " 

"Why,    Pierre!      What   are   you    come   here   for?" 

"  I    am    liaving    a    bh)W.       And    you  ?  " 

Jean    burst   out   laughing. 

"I    aiu    having   a    blow   likewise." 

Pierre    sat    by   his    brother's    side. 

"Is    not    that   a    splendid    sight?" 

"  It    is." 

By  the  sound  of  his  voice  he  understood  that  Jean  had  not  been  looking. 
He  went  on  : 

"  For  my  part,  when  I  come  here  I  have  a  mad  wish  to  go  away,  to 
set  oil  with  all  these  ships,  northward  or  southward.  Fancy  !  Those 
little  lights  below  us  have  come  from  all  quarters  of  llie  world,  from 
countries  with  magnificent  flowers  and  lovely  giils,  white  or  brown,  from 
the  countries  of  the  humming-birds,  the  elephants,  lions  at  liberty,  negroes 
who  are  kings,  from  all  the  lands  which  are  fairy  tales  to  us  who  believe 
no  longer  in  the  White  Cat  or  the  Sleeping  Beauty.  It  would  be  wonder- 
fully nice,  if  one  could  afford  to  make  a  journey  to  those  places;  but  il 
would    mean    a   lot   of   money " 

He  was  suddenly  silent,  remembering  tliat  his  brother  had  it  now,  the 
money  he  spoke  of,  and  that  he,  delivered  from  all  anxiety,  from  daily  loil,  a 
free  man  without  fetters,  rich  and  happy,  could  go  where  his  fancy  led  him, 
to  the  pale-faced  Swedish  beauties,  or  to  the  brown  Havannah  girls. 

Then  one  of  those  involuntary  thoughts,  which  were  frequent  with  iiim, 
so  sudden  and  swift  that  he  could  not  foresee  them,  nor  arrest,  nor  qualify 
them,  which  seemed  to  come  from  another  soul,  independent  of  himself 
and    lull    (tf  violence,    flashed    upon    liiiii. 

"Bah!       He    is    too    stupid!       lie    will    marry    the    little    Uosemilly.  " 

He   had    risen    to    his    feet. 

"  I    will    leave    you    to    dream    of   the    future.       I    want    to    walk.  " 

He    grasped    iiis    i)r()tlicr's    hand,    and    went    on    in    hearty    tones   : 


36  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

"  Well,  my  little  Jean,  and  so  you  are  a  rich  man.  !  am  very  glad 
that  I  met  you  alone  to-night,  that  I  may  say  how  pleased  1  am,  how 
I    wish    you   joy — and    how    1    love    you.   ' 

Jean,  with  his  soft  and  tender  nature,  was  much  moved,  and  stam- 
mered   out  : 

"  Thanks,    thanks,    my   good    Pierre.       Thanks  ! 

And  Pierre  went  slowly  back  again,  his  cane  under  his  arm,  and  his 
hands    behind    him. 

When  he  came  back  to  the  town  he  asked  himself  again  what  he 
should  do,  not  satisfied  with  his  own  interrupted  walk,  and  vexed  at 
having   been    deprived   of  the   sea    by   his    brother's   presence. 

He  had  a  sudden  inspiration —  'I  will  go  and  drink  a  glass  with  old 
Marowsko.  '      So   he   climbed    up    towards   the   Ingouville   quarter. 

He  had  known  Marowsko  in  the  hospitals  at  Paris.  He  was  an  old 
Pole,  a  political  refugee,  so  it  was  said,  who  had  a  terrible  history,  and 
had  come  to  Paris  after  submitting  to  fresh  examinations,  to  practise  as 
a  dispenser.  Nothing  was  known  of  his  past  life;  but  there  had  been 
legends  afloat  amongst  the  house-surgeons,  the  students,  and  later  on 
amongst  the  neighbours.  His  reputation  as  a  dire  conspirator,  a  nihilist, 
a  regicide,  a  patriot  who  was  ready  for  any  fate,  who  had  escaped  death 
by  a  miracle,  had  fascinated  the  wild  and  lively  imagination  of  Pierre 
Roland,  and  he  had  contracted  a  friendship  with  the  old  Pole,  though 
without  getting  from  him  a  single  admission  on  the  subject  of  his  former 
existence.  And,  in  fact,  it  was  through  the  young  doctor  that  this  worthy 
had  come  and  settled  in  Havre,  reckoning  on  a  good  connection  which 
the    aforesaid    doctor   was    to    find    for    him. 

Meanwhile  he  was  living  in  poverty  in  his  modest  apothecary's  shop, 
selling  drugs   to  the  poor  shopkeepers   and   working  men   of  the   quarter. 

Pierre  would  often  go  to  see  him  after  dinner,  and  to  chat  for  an 
hour  to  him,  lor  he  loved  the  calm  face  and  rare  conversation  of  MarowsUo. 
whose   long  silences   he   considered   specially   profound. 

A  single  jet  of  gas  was  burning  above  the  counter  laden  with  phials. 
Those   in  front  of  the  shoj)  had   not  been   lighted,  on   the  score  of  economy. 


Tin:      1  \VU     BROTHERS  37 

Behind    lliis    counter,    seated   on    a    chair,   Avitli    his    legs    stretched    out,   one 
over    the   other,   an   oKl    bald-headed    man,   having   a    large   hcak   of  a    nose 
in   a   line  with  his   narrow  forehead,   giving  him    the  mclancliidy   appearance 
of  a   parrot,   was   fast  asleep   with   his   chin    ii|)on   his   hrcast. 

At  the  sound  of  the  bell  he  awoke,  rose  up,  and  recognizing  the 
doctor,   came  up  to  him  with  outstretched  hands. 

His  black  coat,  spotted  with  stains  of  acids  and  syrups,  much  loo 
large  (or  lii>  ihin.  short  body,  looked  like  a  venerable  cassock;  and  the 
man  spoke  with  a  strong  Polish  accent,  which  gave  his  rapid  speech  an 
infantine  expression,  a  lisp  and  intonations  like  those  of  a  child  just 
beginning   to   j)ronounce. 

Pierre   sat   down,    and    Marowsko   asked    him   : 

"  What    is    there    new,    my    dear   doctor  }  " 

"  Nothing.      Still   the   same   thing  everywhere.  " 

"  You    do   not   look   cheerful,    to-night.  " 

"  I    am    not   often   cheerful.  " 

"  Come,  come  !  You  must  drive  that  away.  Will  you  have  a  glass 
of  liqueur  ?  " 

"  That    is   just   what    1    should    like.  " 

"  Then  1  will  let  you  taste  a  new  preparation.  I'or  two  months  I  have 
been  trying  to  get  something  from  the  currant,  from  which  they  have 
iiilhcrto  made  nothing  but  a  syrup  !  Well  !  I  have  invented  a  good 
licpieur — very   good,    very   good  !  " 

In  great  glee  he  went  lo  a  cupboard,  opened  it,  and  took  out  a  phial, 
with  which  he  returned,  lie  moved  with  brief  gestures,  never  prolonged; 
he  did  not  extend  his  arm  to  its  full  length,  nor  sj)read  his  legs  wide, 
nor  make  any  complete  and  definite  movement.  His  ideas  were  like  his 
actions  ;  he  indicated  them,  foreshadowed,  sketched,  and  suggested  them, 
but   did    not  give    them    full    utterance. 

The  greatest  concern  of  his  life  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  the  preparation 
of  syrups  and  licpicurs.  With  a  good  syrup  or  a  good  licjucur  one  ruu\i\ 
make    a    lorlunc,    he    used    lo    say. 

lie    iiad    invciiU'd    huudieds   of   sweet   concoctions    without    succeeding    in 


38  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

putting    one    on    the    market.      Pierre    declared    that    Marowsko    made    him 
think    of  Marat. 

Two  little  glasses  were  brought  from  the  shop  parlour,  and  placed  on 
the  mixing  slab  ;  and  then  the  two  men  raised  the  liqueur  to  the  gas,  and 
observed    its   colour. 

"  What   a   lovely   ruby  !  "    cried   Pierre. 

"Is    it    not  ?  " 

The   old    Pole   with   his    parrot's   head   seemed   enchanted. 

The  doctor  tasted,  smacked  his  lips,  reflected,  tasted  again,  again 
reflected,    and   then   said  : 

"Capital,  capital,  and  quite  a  new  flavour;  a  regular  discovery,  my 
dear   fellow.  " 

"Truly?      Then    I    am   very  glad." 

Marowsko  asked  Pierre's  advice  as  to  how  he  should  name  the  new 
liqueur;  he  suggested  "essence  of  currant,"  or  "fine  groseille,"  or  "  gro- 
sélia,"    or   else    "groséline." 

Pierre   did   not   care    for   any   of  these   names. 

An   idea   struck    the   old    man. 

"What   you    said  just  now   was   very   good — 'Lovely   ruby.'" 

The  doctor  doubted  the  value  of  this  name  also,  although  he  had  hit 
upon  it.  He  recommended  "  groseillette,  "  which  Marowsko  declared  to  be 
admirable. 

Then  they  were  silent,  and  remained  seated  for  a  few  minutes,  without 
saying  a  word,   under  the  solitary  gas  jet. 

At   last   Pierre   said,    almost   against   his   will   : 

"Look  here;  a  rather  curious  thing  happened  to  us  to-night.  One  of 
my   father's    friends   has   died,    and   left  his   fortune   to   my    brother.  " 

The  dispenser  seemed  not  to  understand  at  once,  but,  after  thinking 
about  it,  he  hoped  the  doctor  would  come  in  for  half.  \\'hen  the  matter 
had  been  thoroughly  explained,  he  appeared  surprised  and  angry  ;  and,  by 
way  of  .expressing  his  dissatisfaction  at  seeing  his  young  friend  sacrificed, 
he  repeated  several  limes  : 

"  That   will    not   look   well." 


THE     TWO     l!l!  (1  I  11  i:  KS 


30 


Pierre,  whose  nervous  fit  was  coming  on  again,  wanted  to  know  what 
Marowsko    meant    hy    this    expression. 

"  Why  Wf)iilcl  it  not  look  well  '  What  l)ad  effect  coukl  he  produced 
by    my    brother    inheriting   the    fortune    of  a    friend    of  the    family  ?  " 

I5ut   the    circumspect   old    man    would    give   no    further   explanation. 

"  it  is  usual  in  surh  cases  to  let  two  brothers  share  alike.  1  tell 
you    that    it    will    not    look    well.  ' 

And    the   doctor,    a    little    i)ut   out,    departed,   and   returning   home,   went 

to      1)0(1. 

For  some  time  he  heard  Jean  walking  softly  in  the  nc.\t  room,  then, 
after   drinking   two   glasses    of  water,    he    went   to    sleep. 


TU 


we  ,v  J^/Nf:/^t/,4!fi" 


CilAPTKH     III 


'I'liE  tloflcjr  woUe  lU'xl  iiiorning  \viLli  a  (irm  tlcLerniinalioii  Lo  make  his 
loiLuiK'. 

Many  a  lime  already  lie  had  Ioi-iiuhI  Uiis  rosolulion,  wilhoiil  loUowiiig  it 
ii|).  Al  llic  oiilsct  ol'  all  his  allcnipts  at  a  now  carocr,  the  h()|)(>  oi  rapidly 
a((|iiiriii<>;  wcallii  siislaiiu'd  his  crforls  and  conhdcnce  nnlil  lie  leachecl  the 
iiist  obstacle,    the    lirst  check,   wiiich  diverted    him   into  a   new  path. 

Sunk  in  his  hed  between  the  warm  clothes,  he  lay  and  metlitaled.  How 
many  doctors  had  become  wealthy  men  in  a  short  time!  A  grain  ol  tact 
was  all  I  hat  was  necessary,  (or  in  the  course  of  his  studies  lie  had  been  able 
to  take  the  meastn-e  of  the  most  celebrated  professors,  and  he  considered 
Ihem  all  so  many  asses.  He  was  certainly  as  good  as  they  were,  il  nut 
bettei-.  li  lie-  ( Didd  only  contrive  in  some  way  to  get  the  fashionable  and  rich 
|)atients  in  Havre,  he  mighl  easily  make  his  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year. 
And  he  uiade  a    precise  calculai  ion  of  the  certain   |)rolils.      In   the   morning  he 


44  TIIK     TWO     IÎHOTIIERS 

would  go  oui  ;uul  visit  liis  patients.  Taking  the  average  at  ten  a  clay,  which 
was  low  enough,  and  twenty  francs  apiece,  this  would  give  him  at  least  sev- 
enty-two thousand  francs  a  year — say  seventy-five  thousand,  for  ten  patients 
a  day  was  well  helow  the  mark.  In  llie  afternoon  he  would  receive  in  his 
surgery  an  average  of  ten  patients  at  ten  francs  each,  or  thirty-six  thousand 
francs  a  year.  In  round  numbers  there  was  a  hundred  thousand  francs.  Then 
the  old  clients,  and  the  friends  whom  he  would  visit  at  ten  francs,  and  receive 
at  five,  might  somewhat  diminish  this  total,  but  that  would  be  made  up  for  by 
consultations  with  other  doctors,  and  by  all  the  little  occasional  windfalls 
of  the  profession. 

Nothing  could  be  more  easy  than  to  manage  this,  with  a  little  clever 
puffing,  and  hints  in  the  Figaro  suggesting  that  the  scientific  body  in  Paris 
had  its  eye  on  him,  and  was  interested  in  certain  surprising  cures  effected  by 
the  young  and  modest  proficient  of  Havre.  He  would  be  richer  than  his 
brother,  richer  and  more  celebrated,  and  better  pleased  with  his  lot,  for  he 
would  owe  his  fortune  to  himself  alone,  and  would  be  generous  to  his  old 
parents,  who  would  be  justly  proud  of  his  reputation.  He  should  not  marry, 
for  he  did  not  want  to  burden  his  existence  with  a  sintrle  woman  who  would 
bore  him;   but  he  should  have  good   friends  amongst  his   patients. 

He  felt  himself  so  sure  of  success  that  he  jumped  out  of  bed  as  though  to 
seize  it  on  the  spot,  and  dressed  himself,  in  order  to  search  the  town  for  suit- 
able apartments. 

Then,  as  he  wandered  through  llie  streets,  he  thought  to  himself  how 
slight  were  the  determining  causes  of  our  actions.  Any  time  within  three 
weeks  he  might,  he  ought  to  have  come  to  this  resolution  which  hail  sud- 
denly taken  shape  within  him,  doubtless  in  consequence  of  his  brother's 
legacy. 

He  paused  before  the  doors  where  a  placard  announced  ''good"  or 
"  handsome  apartments  to  let"  —  ''  apartments"  without  an  adjective 
only  exciting  his  scorn.  Then  he  made  inipiiries  with  a  haughlv  manner, 
measured  the  height  of  the  ceilings,  drew  the  plan  of  the  suite  in  his  note- 
book, with  the  connnunications,  and  liie  relative  position  of  the  entrances, 
announcing  that  he  was  a  physician,  and  IkuI  many  visitors.      It  was  necessary 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  45 

that  the  stairs    should   be   wide   and  handsome;   and   moreover  lie  would   not 
reside   on    any    but   the  first  floor. 

After  taking  down  seven  or  eight  addresses,  and  making  two  hundred 
entries,  he  went  home  to  breakfast,  being  a  quarter  of  an  hour  late. 

In  the  vestibule  he  heard  the  noise  of  plates.  They  had  begun  without  him. 
Why?  They  were  not  so  punctual  in  the  house  as  a  rule.  He  was  hurt  ;nul 
displeased,  being  somewhat  susceptible.  As  soon  as  he  entered,  Roland  said 
to  him    : 

"Come  along,  Pierre,  make  haste,  \\liat  the  dickens!  You  know  we  have 
to  go  to  the  notary's  at  two.    This  is   not  the  day  lor  mooning  about.  " 

The  doctor  sat  down  without  replying,  having  first  kissed  liis  mother  and 
shaken  hands  with  his  father  and  brother;  and  he  took  the  cutlet  which 
had  been  kept  for  Iiiiii,  out  of  the  dish  in  the  middle  of  the  table.  It  was  cold 
and  dry;  doubtless  the  worst  oi  I  he  lot.  He  thought  they  might  have  left  it 
in  the  oven  till  he  came  in,  and  not  lose  their  heads  so  far  as  to  completely 
forget  the  other,  the  elder  son.  The  conversation,  interrupted  by  his 
entrance,  was   resumed  where  it  had  been  broken  off. 

"Now,"  said  Madame  Roland  to  Jean,  "this  is  what  I  should  do  at  once.  1 
should  take  handsome  apartments,  so  as  to  cut  a  dash;  I  should  show  myself 
in  society,  go  out  riding,  and  pick  out  one  or  two  interesting  cases  to  take  up, 
and  make  an  impression  in  the  courts.  I  should  elect  to  be  a  sort  of  amateur 
advocate,  much  sought  after.  Thank  God  you  are  above  want,  and  in  line, 
if  you  take  a  profession,  it  is  only  that  you  may  not  lose  the  benefit  of 
your  studies,  and  because  a  man  ought  never  to  live  without  iloing  any- 
thing." 

M.    Uolaud,    who    was    peeling  a  pear,  exclaimed  : 

"  Ry  Jove,  ii  1  were  you,  I  should  buy  a  good  boat — a  coaster  like  our 
pilot    boats.     With    that    I    should    go   as   lar   as   Senegal." 

Pierre  too,  was  ready  with  his  advice.  It  was  not  fortune,  he  said. 
whi<h  constituted  the  uujral  or  iulellecluiil  worth  of  a  man.  For  ordi- 
iiarv  spirits  it  was  oidy  a  source  ol  degradation,  whilst,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  jilacrd  a  powerful  lever  in  the  hands  of  the  strong.  Hut  strong 
people    wei'C    rare.       If  Jean   were    really   a    superior    man,    he    could    show 


46  THF.     TWO     r!ROTl[KRS 

it.  now  that  he  was  above  want.  But  lie  would  have  to  work  a  hiinihed 
times  harder  than  he  would  under  other  circumstances.  It  was  not  a 
question  of  taking  cases  for  or  against  the  widow  and  orphan,  and  pocketing 
so  many  fees  for  every  case,  whether  he  lost  or  won  it,  but  of  becoming 
an   eminent  jurisconsult,   a  light  of  the   law. 

And  he  added,   by  way  of  conclusion  : 

"  If   I    had    money,    1    should    carve    my   way    to   fame." 

M.    Roland   shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Tra  la  la!  The  wisest  course  in  life  is  to  make  it  run  smooth.  We 
are  not  beasts  of  burden,  but  men.  When  we  are  born  poor,  we  must 
work.  Very  well,  we  work,  mores  the  pity.  But  when  we  have  an 
income,  by  Jove,  we  must  be  fools  to  knock  ourselves  up  with  drudgery." 

Pierre  replied   with    much   grandeur  : 

"Our  inclinations  are  not  the  same.  I  must  confess  that  I  have  no 
respect  for  anything  in  the  world  except  knowledge  and  intelligence. 
Everything   else  is  below  contempt." 

Madame  Roland  always  made  a  point  of  softening  the  incessant  shocks 
between  father  and  son;  so  she  turned  the  conversation,  and  began  to 
talk  of  a  murder  committed  in  the  previous  week  at  Bolbec-Nointot. 
Thus  their  minds  were  soon  busy  over  the  circumstances  which  sur- 
rounded the  outrage,  drawn  by  that  interesting  horror,  that  attractive 
mystery  of  crimes,  which,  even  when  they  are  vulgar,  shameful,  ami 
repelling,  exercise  a  strange  and  widespread  fascination  on  the  curiosity 
of  mankind. 

But  M.  Roland  drew  out  his  watch  from  time  to  time.  "Come,"  he 
said,   "we   shall    soon   have  to    start." 

Pierre  sneered. 

"It  is  not  one  o'clock  yet.  Indeed,  it  was  hardly  worth  while  to 
make   me  eat  a  cold    cutlet." 

"Are    you    coming    to    the    notary's?"   his   mother   asked. 

"I?      No.      What   could    I    do?      My   presence    is   certainly    useless." 

Jean  remainctl  silent,  as  though  lie  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter. 
When    they    were    speaking   of   the    Uolbec    murder,    he    had    ventured    on    a 


rilK     TWO     lM'i(»THFnS  47 

lew  ideas  as  a  la\\\('r.  anil  made  a  lew  remarks  on  (riiiic  and  ciiiiiiiials. 
Now  lie  was  sdeiil  again,  huL  llu'  brightness  of  his  eye,  Uie  lively  eolour 
of  his  cheeks,  the  very  hrilliancy  of  his  heard,  seemed  to  bespeak  his 
haj)piness. 

After  the  departure  of  his  family,  Pierre,  once  more  alone,  renewed 
his  mornings  investigations  amongst  the  apartments  to  let.  After  two  or 
three  hours  of  climbing  up  and  down  stairs  he  discovered  at  length,  in 
the  Boulevard  François  Premier,  something  attractive;  a  large  entresol,  with 
two  doors  in  different  streets,  two  drawing-rooms,  a  glazed  corridor,  wliere 
the  patients  awaiting  their  turn  could  walk  amongst  flowers,  and  a  deliglil- 
ful   round    dining-room,   looking   over    the   sea. 

^^'hen  he  was  about  to  engage  them,  the  rent,  which  was  three  thou- 
sand francs,  startled  him,  for  it  was  necessary  to  pay  the  (irst  quarter 
in    advance,    and   he   had   nothing — ^not  even  a    sou — at    his    command. 

The  small  fortune  saved  by  his  father  amounted  to  scarcely  eight 
thousand  francs  a  year,  and  f^ierre  reproached  himself  with  having  fre- 
quently put  his  parents  to  trouble  bv  his  long  hesitation  in  the  choice  of 
a  career,  his  attempts  which  were  constantly  abandoned,  and  his  repeated 
new  beginnings  in  his  studies.  So  he  went  away,  promising  a  reply 
within  two  days;  and  the  idea  came  into  his  head  of  asking  his  brother 
lor  this  three  months'  rent,  or  even  for  six  months' — that  is  to  say,  fiiteen 
iiundred   francs,    as  soon   as  Jean    was    in  possession  of  his   legacy. 

"It  will  be  a  loan,"  he  thought,  "for  a  few  months  only.  I  shall 
probablv  ichnn  it  even  before  the  end  of  the  year.  It  is  a  small  matter, 
after   all,    and    he    will    be  glad    to    do   this    for    me." 

As  it  was  not  yet  four,  ami  he  had  nothing,  absolutely  nothing  to 
do,  he  went  and  sat  down  in  llie  pid)lic  gardens;  and  he  remained  silting 
lor  a  long  time,  thinking  of  nothing,  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
oppressed   by   a    weariness    which    was    becoming    painful. 

.\nd  vet.  tiui-ing  (he  davs  wliicli  liad  passed  since  his  i-(>turr)  to  his 
fathers  house,  he  had  lived  llius,  without  sullering  so  much  iVoni  tlie 
emptiness  of  his  existence,  and  fiom  his  inacti\itv.  How  lluii  had  be 
passed   his    time    between    waking    and    >leeping.' 


48  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

He  had  lounged  on  the  jetty  when  the  tide  came  in,  lounged  in  the 
streets,  lounged  in  the  cafe's,  lounged  at  Marowsko's,  lounged  everywhere. 
And  now  suddenly  this  life,  which  he  had  hitherto  endured,  became  odious 
and  intolerable  to  him.  If  he  had  had  any  money  he  would  have  hired 
a  carriage,  and  taken  a  long  drive  in  the  country,  along  the  roadside 
fences,  overshadowed  by  beeches  and  ashes;  but  he  had  to  count  the 
price  of  a  glass  of  ale,  or  of  a  postage  stamp,  and  these  whims  were 
forbidden  to  him.  He  thought  suddenly  how  hard  it  was,  when  one  has 
passed  one's  thirtieth  year,  to  ask  ones  mother  now  and  then,  with  a 
blush,  for  a  lot/is;  and  he  muttered,  as  he  raked  the  gravel  with  the 
end    of    his    cane    : 

"I   wish    to   Heaven   1  had    some    money!" 

And  the  thought  of  his  brother's  inheritance  came  into  his  mind  again, 
like  the  sting  of  a  wasj);  but  he  banished  it  impatiently,  unwilling  to 
give    way    to    this  jealousy. 

Around  him  the  children  were  playing  on  the  dusty  walks.  They  Avere 
fair,  long-haired  creatures,  and  they  were  very  seriously,  with  grave  atten- 
tion, making  little  heaps  of  sand,  in  order  to  stamp  them  out  afterwards 
with    a    single    kick. 

It  was  for  Pierre  one  of  those  sad  days  on  which  we  look  into  all 
the   recesses  of   our    souls,    and  shake  out   all    their   folds. 

"  Our  enterprises  are  like  tlic  lal)ours  of  these  mites,"  he  thought. 
Then  he  asked  himself  if  the  wisest  thing  in  life  were  not  after  all  to 
beget  two  or  three  of  these  useless  little  creatures,  and  to  see  them  grow 
up  with  pleasure  and  curiosity.  And  tlie  desire  of  marriage  came  over 
him.  When  one  is  no  longer  alone,  one  is  not  such  a  lost  man.  At 
least  one  hears  somebody  stirring  close  to  one,  in  the  hours  of  trouble 
and  anxiety,  and  it  is  something  to  speak  familiarly  to  a  woman  when  one 
is    suffering. 

He    began    to    think    about    womankind. 

He  had  very  little  knowledge  of  them,  having  only  had  fortnight's 
fancies  in  the  Latin  quarter,  broken  off  when  he  had  got  through  his 
months    money,    and    renewed   or    replaced    the    month    after.       Still    there 


Tin:     TWO     BROTHERS  49 

must  be  very  good,  sweet,  and  comforting  creatures  in  existence.  Had 
not  his  mother  been  the  satisfaction  and  cliarm  ol  the  paternal  hearth  ? 
If   he    could    only    know    a   woman,    a    genuine   woman! 

He  suddenly  got  tip  willi  the  deterniinalion  to  pay  a  call  on  Madame 
Rosémilly.  Then  he  sat  liown  again  promptly.  She  did  not  please  him. 
NN'hy .'  She  hail  too  much  ordinary  and  inferior  sense;  and  then,  did  not 
she  seem  to  prcler  Jean  to  hiin.'  Without  plainlv  making  the  admission  to 
himself,  this  preference  had  much  to  do  with  liis  poor  opinion  of  the 
widow's  intelligence;  for,  if  he  loved  his  brother,  he  could  not  help  think- 
ing him  a    little    commonplace,    and    holding   himself  superior. 

He  was  not  going  to  stay  there,  however,  till  nightfall  ;  and,  as  on 
the    previous   evening,   he   asked    himself  anxiously:    "What   am    I    to   do?" 

He  felt  in  his  soul  a  vearninj;  for  tenderness,  to  be  kissed,  and  con- 
soled.  Consoled  for  what?  He  could  not  have  answered  the  question, 
but  he  was  in  one  of  those  moods  of  weakness  and  lassitude  in  which 
the  presence  of  a  woman,  a  woman's  caress,  the  touch  of  a  hand,  the 
rustle  of  a  dress,  a  soft  look  from  a  black  eye  or  a  blue  eye,  seem 
indispensable   to  our    hearts,    without    a   minute's    delay. 

And  the  recollection  of  a  little  barmaid  whom  he  had  once  seen  home, 
and    whom    he    had    visited    once    or   twice    afterwards,    recurred    to    him. 

He  got  up  again,  therefore,  meaning  to  go  and  drink  a  glass  with 
this  girl.  \\'hat  should  he  say  to  her?  What  would  she  say  to  him? 
Nothing,  of  course.  But  what  of  that?  He  would  hold  her  hand  for 
a  few  seconds.  She  seemed  to  like  him.  N\  liy  then  diil  he  not  go 
and   see   her    more   frecjucntly? 

He  found  her  dozing  in  her  chair,  in  the  almost  empty  bar.  Three 
topers  were  smoking  their  pii)cs,  willi  their  elbows  on  the  oak  tables; 
the  cashier  was  reading  a  novel,  and  the  host,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  was 
fast    asleep    on    the    couch. 

When    she    saw    him,    the    girl    got    up    eagerly,    and    came    to   him. 

"Good    day.       How    arc    you    by    this    lime?" 

"  Not    so    bad.        .Vnd    vnu  :' " 
'I   am    right   enough.       How    scarce   you    make    yourself!" 


50  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

"Yes.  I  have  not  much  lime  on  my  hands.  1  am  a  doctor,  you 
know." 

"Why,  you  never  loKl  me  that.  If  I  hati  known.  I  was  oiil  of 
sorts  last  week,  and  I  shouhl  have  asked  your  advice.  What  are  you 
ffoinrj   to  have?" 

"A   glass   of   ale.       And   you?" 

"1    will    have    the    same,    as   you    are   going   to    pay    for    it." 

And  she  went  on  talking  familiarly,  as  if  the  offer  of  refreshment 
had  implied  an  invitation  to  do  so.  Then,  seated  in  front  of  each  dIIut. 
they  conversed.  Now  and  then  she  took  his  hand  with  the  easy  famil- 
iarity of  girls  whose  caress  is  for  sale,  and,  looking  at  him  with  speak- 
ing  eyes,    said  : 

"  \\'liy    don't   you    come    oftener.       1    like   you,    my    dear." 

But  he  was  already  disgusted  with  her.  He  saw  that  she  was  stupitl, 
common,  and  vulgar.  \A'omen,  he  said  to  himself,  ought  to  appear 
to  us  in  a  dream,  or  in  a  golden  mist  of  luxury  which  throws  a  poetic 
veil    over   their    vulgarity. 

"You  passed  the  other  morning,"  she  said,  'with  a  handsome,  fair 
man,    with   a    long   beard.       Is    that   your    brother?" 

"Yes,    it   is    my   brother." 

"He    is  a    very    nice-looking    fellow." 

"  Do    you   think    so  ?  ' 

"Yes;    and   he    looks   like    a    free    and    easy    man." 

What  strange  impulse  suddenly  impelled  him  to  tell  this  barmaid  of 
Jean's  legacy?  ^^'hy  did  this  idea,  which  he  drove  away  when  he  was 
alone,  which  he  repelled  for  fear  of  the  disturbance  it  created  in  his 
mind,  spring  to  his  lips  at  this  moment,  and  why  did  he  let  it  How 
out,  as  if  he  had  need  to  empty  his  soul  of  its  bitterness  again,  in  the 
presence   of  another  ? 

Crossinj»'  his    Icffs,    he    said   : 

"lie    is    lucky,    is    my    brother.       He    has   just   come    into    twenty    thou- 
sand   francs    a    year." 

She   opened   wide    lier    blue    and    covetous    eyes. 


'\  ■■<■  „ 


'm!-- 


THE    TWO    i; IK) Tin;  11 S 


51 


"Oh!       And    who    lias    Icll    him    that?       His   grandmolher,    or    his   aunl?" 

"No,     ail     ohi     tViciid    of    my    |)arcnts?" 

"Only    a    IVicnd?       Impossible!        And     has     he    Idl     nolhing     to    you?" 

"No,     I    knew    iitllc    of    him." 

She  rellectcd  lor  a  lew  seconds;  then,  wilh  a  queer  smile  on  her 
lips,    said    : 

"Well,  he  is  lueky,  thai  lirollier  oC  yours,  lo  have  I'liends  ol  that 
sort.  It  is  certainly  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  he  rescuibles  you  so 
little!" 

lie  iclt  as  if  he  could  box  her  ears,  without  exactly  knowing  why  , 
and   he   asked    her  sternly   : 

"What   do    you    mean    by    that?" 

She    assunuîd    a    stupid    and    ingenuous    look. 

"Mean?       Nothing.       I    mean     that    he    is    luckier    than    you." 

He    tiirew    twenty    sous    on    the    table,    and    went   away. 

Then  he  repeated  the  sentence  :  "It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  he 
resembles  you    so    little  !  " 

What  was  she  thinking?  What  had  she  implied  in  these  words? 
There  was  certainly  souiething  mischievous,  malicious,  itilamous  in  them. 
Yes,     this    girl    must    have    thought    that    .lean    was     the    son    ol     Marc'chal. 

The  trouble  he  Iclt  at  this  suspicion  cast  on  his  mother  was  so 
extrcMie    that    he    stood    still,    and    looked    about    lor   a    seat. 

Another  cdj)-  happened  to  be  in  Iront  ol  him,  and  he  enteretl,  took 
a     chair,     and.     when    thi'    waiter    came     up,    said    : 

"  A     glass    ol    ale. 

lie  fell  his  heait  beat  ;  his  llesh  quivered  under  Ids  skin.  And  sud- 
(ieidv  111'  recalled  \\\\.\\  .Marowsko  had  said  the  nijjht  beioic  :  "Thai  will 
not  look  well.  '  Had  he  ihoiighl  the  same  thing,  had  the  same  suspi- 
cion   as    this    girl  .' 

Willi    his    head    bent   over    his    glass,    h(>    watched    the    white    IVolh    sjiarkle 

and    sink,    and    said    to    liiinseir:    "Is    it    possible    lliat    lliev    should    think    so?" 

The    reasons    which    iiiinht   cause    this    haldiil    suspicion    to    arise    in    tluMi' 

minds    :ippc:ircd    lo    liini     now.     one    alter    aiiollicr.     plain.     e\ident.    exaspciat- 


52  THE     T\VO     BROTHERS 

ino-.  If  an  old  l);uheloi-  without  heirs  were  to  leave  his  fortune  to  the 
two  children  of  a  friend,  nothing  could  be  more  simple  and  natural  ;  but 
when  he  gives  it  all  to  one  of  the  children,  people  are  sure  to  wonder, 
to  whisper,  and  to  smile.  Why  did  he  not  foresee  that?  Why  had 
not  his  father  felt  it?  Why  ditl  his  mother  not  guess  it?  No;  they  had 
been  too  delighted  over  this  unexpected  money  to  be  visited  by  such 
an  idea.  And  then,  how  could  these  simple  folk  have  imagined  such  a 
disgrace  ? 

But  the  public,  the  neighbours,  the  shopkeepers,  small  and  great,  all 
who  knew  them— would  they  not  be  repeating  this  abominable  thing, 
amusing  themselves  over  it,  chuckling,  laughing  at  his  father,  and  despis- 
ing  his    mother  ? 

And  the  remark  of  the  barmaid,  that  Jean  Avas  fair  whilst  he  was 
dark,  that  they  were  not  alike  in  face,  or  bearing,  or  figure,  or  mind, 
would  henceforth  strike  every  eye  and  every  intelligence.  When  men 
spoke  of  a  young  Roland,  some  one  would  say  :  "Which — the  real  or  the 
false?" 

He  jumped  up,  resolved  to  warn  his  brother,  to  put  him  on  his  guard 
against  this  terrible  danger  which  threatened  their  mother's  good  name, 
[îut  what  could  Jean  do?  The  simplest  thing,  surely,  would  be  to  refuse 
the  legacy,  which  would  then  go  to  the  poor,  and  tell  one's  friends  and 
acquaintances  who  had  heard  of  the  bequest  merely  that  the  will  contained 
clauses  and  conditions  which  Jean  could  not  accept,  which  would  have 
made   him   not  an   heir,    but   a    trustee. 

As  he  returnctl  to  his  father's  house  he  thought  that  he  must  see  his 
brother   alone,    so   as   not   to    speak   before    his    parents    on    such    a    subject. 

^^'hen  he  reached  the  door  he  heard  the  sound  of  voices  and  laughter 
in  the  drawinir-room,  and  on  entering  he  heard  Madame  Rosémilly  and 
Captain  Beausire,  who  had  been  brought  home  by  his  father  and  kept 
to    dinner,    in    order   to    celebrate    the   good    news. 

Vermouth  and  absinthe  had  been  sent  for,  to  give  them  an  appetite,  and 
they  had  been  in  a  good  humour  from  the  first.  Captain  Beausire,  a 
little   man,   round    from    nmch   tossing   on    the    sea,  all    whose    ideas    seemed 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  53 

to  be  roiind  also,  like  the  pebbles  on  the  shore,  who  laughed  with  his 
throat  lull  of  "  r's,  "  thought  life  an  excellent  business,  in  which  everything 
was   delightful. 

He  was  drinking  with  Roland,  whilst  Jean  was  oflering  the  ladies  two 
brimming  glasses. 

Madame  Rosémilly  declined,  when  Captain  Beausire,  who  had  known 
her    lale    husband,    cried  : 

"Come,  come,  Madame — bis  repetita  placent,  as  we  say  in  our  patois, 
which  means  :  '  Two  veruioullis  will  never  hurt  you.  For  uiy  part,  you 
know,  since  I  gave  up  seafaring,  1  give  myself  every  day  before  dinner 
two  or  three  glasses  of  artificial  rolling.  1  atld  a  glass  of  pitching  after 
my  coOee,  which  leaves  me  in  a  heavy  sea  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 
1  never  get  so  far   as   a   tempest — never,    never,  for  1  am  afraid  of  (himages." 

Roland,  whose  nautical  mania  was  llattered  by  the  old  sea-captain, 
laughetl  lieartilv,  iiis  face  being  already  red,  and  his  eve  disturbed  by 
the  absinthe.  lie  had  a  shopkeeper's  paunch — he  was  all  stomach  .  the 
rest  of  his  body  seeming  to  have  passed  into  it — one  of  those  llabbv 
stonuichs  of  sedentary  men,  who  no  longer  possess  thighs,  nor  chests, 
nor  arms  nor  necks,  the  seat  of  their  chair  having  pressed  all  their 
substance    into   the    same   receptacle. 

Beausire,  on  the  other  hand,  though  short  and  stout,  looked  as  full 
as    an    ey'ir    and    as    hard    as   a    ball. 

.Matlame  Roland  had  not  emptied  her  lirst  glass,  and.  glowing  with 
hap])iness,    with    brilliant  eyes,   was    gazing  at    her   son    Jean. 

With  him.  by  this  time,  the  crisis  of  joy  was  reached.  The  allair 
was  sealed  and  signed;  he  had  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year.  From  the 
way  in  which  he  laughed,  from  his  more  sonorous  voice,  from  his  manner 
of  looking  at  people,  from  his  eooler  bearing  and  greater  assurance,  the 
aplond)    which    money  gives    a   man   was  evident. 

Dinner  was  announced;  and  as  old  Roland  went  to  olfer  his  arm  to 
Madame   Rosémilly,    his    wife    cried  : 

'•No,    no,    father;    it    must    be    Jean     in    everything    to-day." 

On    tlic     tabic,    an    unaccustomed     luxury    was    conspicuous.       In     Iront    ol 


54  THE     TWO     BROTIIF.RS 

Jean's  plate — he  was  seated  to-night  in  his  father's  chair — an  enormous 
bouquet,  full  of  silken  favours,  a  regulation  bouquet  as  befitted  a  grand 
ceremony,  rose  like  a  dome  decked  with  Hags,  flanked  with  four  dessert 
dishes,  of  which  one  held  a  pyramid  of  splendid  peaches,  the  second  a 
monumental  cake  smothered  in  whipped  cream  and  covered  with  bell- 
flowers  of  moulded  sugar — a  baked  cathedral,  the  liurd.  slices  of  pine-apple, 
soaked  in  clear  syrup,  and  the  fourth  (unheard-of  luxury)  black  grapes 
from  southern    climes. 

'■'■  Bigre!''  said  Pierre,  as  he  sat  down,  "we  are  celebrating  the 
accession    of  Jean    the    Rich.  " 

After  the  soup  there  was  Madeira;  and  already  every  one  was  speaking 
at  the  same  time.  Beausire  was  telling  of  a  ilinner  which  he  had  had 
at  San  Domingo,  at  the  table  of  a  negro  general.  M.  Roland  was  listening 
to  him,  trying  meanwhile  to  slip  in  between  the  sentences  a  story  of 
another  feast  given  by  one  of  his  friends  at  Meudon,  every  guest  at 
which  had  been  ill  for  fifteen  days  after.  Madame  Rosémilly ,  Jean, 
and  his  mother,  were  planning  an  excursion  and  a  breakfast  at  Saint- 
Joiiiii.  at  wliirli  they  promised  themselves  beforehand  unlimited  joy;  and 
I'icrre  was  regretting  that  he  hail  not  dined  alone,  in  a  pot-house  on 
the  sea-shore,  so  as  to  avoid  all  this  noise,  this  laughter  and  joy  which 
depressed   him. 

He  was  thinking  how  he  could  manage  now  to  tell  his  brother  of  his 
fears,  and  to  make  him  renounce  the  fortune  which  he  had  already 
accepted,  which  he  was  enjoying,  on  which  he  was  intoxicating  himself 
beforehand.  It  would  be  hard  for  hiui.  no  doubt,  but  he  must  do  it; 
he  could  not  hesitate,  for  the  reputation  of  their  mother  was  endan- 
gered. 

The  appearance  of  an  enormous  barb(>l  turned  iîoland  upon  fishing 
anecdotes.  Beausire  related  some  remarkable  ones  about  the  Gaboon, 
Sainte-Marie  de  Madagascar,  and  especially  about  the  coasts  of  China  and 
Japan,  where  the  fish  have  a  peculiar  aspect,  like  the  inhabitants.  He 
told  of  the  a|)|)("aran(e  of  these  fishes,  their  great  golden  eves,  their  red 
and    blue    bellies,   their  quaint    fins,    like    fans,    their    tails    in   the    shape  of 


THE     TWO     lîlldTIlKRS  55 

crosrcnts,    talking   with    siuli    aimisini^  gestures,   tluiL    llicy    all    laiiylicd    iiiilil 
lliey    cried,    as    they   listcncil    lo    hiin. 

Pierre    alone   seemed    incredulous,   and    nuittereil   : 

'One    may    well    say    llial    llic    Normans   arc   the   Gascons   of  the   Xorlh." 

After  the  fish  came  a  vol-aii-vcnt,  then  a  roast  chicken,  a  salad, 
some  P^'CMicli  beans,  anti  a  pie  of  Pithiviers  larks.  Madame  Hosemilly's 
maid  was  lu'l|)ing  to  wait  .  and  the  gaiety  increased  with  the  number 
of  glasses  of  wine.  When  the  cork  ol  the  first  champagiu,'  bottle  flew, 
old  M.  Holand,  greatly  excited,  imitated  the  sound  of  the  explosion  with 
his   nioulli,    and    said  : 

"I   like  that   belter    than    a   pistol-shot." 

Pierre,   who    was    more   and    more    tormented,    saiil   with  a    sneer: 

"  PtM'liaps.    all    the   same,     it   is    more    dangerous    foi-    you." 

Uolanil,  who  was  about  to  drink,  set  down  his  full  glass  on  the  table. 
"Why,    pray?"    he   asked. 

He  had  long  been  complaining  of  his  health,  oi  heaviness,  giddiness, 
constant    and    inexplicable   discomforts.       The    doctor   replied: 

"  Because  a  pistol-shot  might  go  past  you,  whilsl  the  glass  of  wine 
is   received    into   your    stomach." 

"What    then?" 

"Then  it  burns  your  stomach,  disorganizes  the  nervous  system,  checks 
the  circidation,  and  leads  to  apoplcxN' .  \\ith  \\hicb  all  men  of  your 
temperament    are    menaced.  ' 

The  advancing  intoxication  of  the  old  jeweller  seemed  to  be  dissipated 
like  smoke  before  the  wind  ;  and  he  looked  at  his  son  with  (Ixcd  and 
anxious   eyes,    trying    to    understand    whclher    he    was    jesting    or    not. 

But    Beausirc     ciicd    : 

"Oh,  these  confounded  doctors,  they  are  all  alike.  Von  mnsi  not 
eat,  you  must  not  driid<,  you  nnist  ncjt  love,  and  you  unist  not  dance. 
.\ll  dial  kind  oi'  lliing  may  do  some  lilllc  mischief  to  a  man  in  pool- 
health  Well.  I  have  tried  all  llial.  sir.  in  all  parts  of  ihc  world,  wlicicver 
I     coiil.l.     iiid     IS     much    as    I    could;    and     I     am     iiol     a    bit     the   woi'sc    lor   it.' 

Pierre     rc|oined.    with     billeriiess  : 


() 


56  TIIK     TWO     BROTHERS 


"In    the    first    place,    Captain,    you    are    stronger    llian     my    ialher;    and 

then  all  good  livers  talk  like  you  until And  they  don't  comeback   next 

morning  to  say  to  the  wise  physician,  'You  were  right,  iloctor.'  When 
1  see  my  father  do  what  is  the  worst  and  most  dangerous  thing  for 
him,  it  is  very  natural  that  I  should  warn  him.  1  should  be  a  bad  son 
if  1    did    otherwise." 

Madame    Rohuid,    in    tlespair,    now    struck    in   : 

"  lUit,  Pierre,  wluit  is  wrong  with  you?  P^or  once  in  a  way  this  will 
not  hurl  him.  Think  what  a  great  day  this  is  for  him,  for  us  all. 
You  will  spoil  his  pleasure  entirely,  and  vex  us  all.  What  you  are 
doing  is   very    unbecoming." 

He  muttered  as  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  : 

"  Let  him  do  what  he  likes.      I  have  warned  him." 

Hut  old  M.  Roland  did  not  drink.  He  gazed  at  his  glass,  his  glass  full 
f  bright,  transparent  wine,  whose  light  and  intoxicating  spirit  was  fleeting 
Jn  little  bubbles  from  the  bottom,  which  leaped  up  raj)idly  one  after  another 
to  break  on  the  surface;  and  he  looked  at  it  with  the  distrust  of  a  fox  who 
finds  a  dead  fowl,   and  suspects  a  snare. 

"You  think,"  he  said  with  much  hesitation,  "that  this  would  do  me  a 
great  deal  of  harm? 

Pierre  felt  remorseful,  and  reproached  himself  for  making  others  feel 
his    bail    liunu)ur. 

"No,  go  on,  for  once;  drink  it,  but  don't  abuse  it.  and  don't  get 
into    the   habit." 

Then  Roland  raised  his  glass,  without  resolving  even  yet  to  carry  it 
to  his  mouth.  lie  looked  at  it  sorrowfully,  with  d(>sire  and  fcai' ;  then 
he  smelt  it,  tasted  it,  draidv  it  in  sips,  smacking  his  lips  over  them, 
with  his  heart  full  of  anguish,  of  weakness,  and  gluttony,  and  finally 
of  regret,    as    soon   as    he    had    sucked    up    ihe    last    drop. 

Suddenly  Pierre  nu-t  the  eye  of  Madame  Rosémilly;  it  was  fixed  upon 
him,  liquid  and  blue,  penetrating  and  hard.  And  he  felt,  he  realised, 
he  divined  the  clear  thought  which  inspired  the  look — the  angry  thought 
of    ihis     llltlc     woman    with     her     simpl(>     and     straightforward     mind;     for 


THE     TWO     BROTH  I:RS  57 

tlio    look    snid     to    Iiiin  ''You    arc     jealous,     sir.       That    is    shameful!" 

lie  hcuL  his  Ikm(I,  and  went  on  eating.  He  was  not  hungry;  nothino- 
was  to  his  taste.  He  had  a  harassing  desire  to  go  away,  to  shake  oiï' 
this    company,    not    to    hear    them    talk,    or   jest,    or   laugh. 

.Mean\vliih>  AI.  l^oland,  on  whom  the  fumes  of  the  wine  were  heo-innino- 
to  take  effect,  was  aheady  forgetting  the  counsels  of  his  son,  and  was 
gazing  with  oblique  and  tender  look  at  a  bottle  of  champagne,  still 
almost  full,  which  stood  by  his  plate.  He  dared  not  touch  it,  for  fear 
of  fresh  admonitions,  and  he  was  thinking  l)y  what  trick,  by  what  clever 
device  he  could  get  hold  of  it  without  rousing  Pierre's  observation.  He 
conceived  a  very  simple  plan.  He  took  the  bottle  coolly,  and,  holding- 
it  by  the  bottom,  stretched  his  arm  across  the  table  so  as  to  fill  first 
the  glass  of  the  doctor,  which  Avas  empty;  then  he  did  the  same  to  (he 
other  glasses,  and  when  he  came  to  his  own  he  began  to  sj)eak  very 
loud,  and,  ii  lie  poured  anything  into  it,  you  would  have  certainly  sworn 
that   it  was    by    inadvertence.       Hut   nobotly  saw   it. 

Pierre  thoughtlessly  drank  deep.  Nervous  and  distressed,  he  repeatedly 
took  lip  I  lie  long  taper  glass,  in  which  the  bubbles  rose  steadily  in  the 
living  and  transjKuent  licpior,  and  raised  it  with  an  unconscious  air  to  his 
lips.  Then  he  let  it  (low  gently  through  his  mouth,  that  he  might  feel 
the    little   sugared   stings   of  the  gas   as    it    evaporated   on    his   tongue. 

Gradiiallv  a  pleasant  warmth  was  diffused  through  his  body.  Rising 
from  the  stomach,  as  from  a  hearth,  it  reached  the  chest,  passed  into 
the  limbs,  .ind  pciincaLcd  tlic  whole  llesh  ,  like  a  warm  and  healing 
wave,  carrying  pleasure  with  it.  lie  lelt  liimsell  bettei-,  less  impatient, 
less  dissatisfied;  and  even  his  resolution  lo  speak  to  Ins  iudllicr  lo-iiight 
faded  away;  not  that  llic  ihought  of  abandoning  his  iiileiitioii  bad  ciilcrcd 
his  miiiil.  iiiil  he  could  not  so  (piuklx  di>liirb  the  happiness  which  he 
was    experiencing. 

licausire   rose    to    propose   a    toast.      Willi    a   swce|)ing  bow    be    began   : 

"Most   gracious   ladies,    gentlemen    all  I       We    are    gathered    together   to 

celebrate    a     happy     event     wliicli     lias    jiisl     bclallen     one    of    our    friends. 

They    used    lo    say    llial     fortune    was    blind.    Iml     I    believe    she    was   simply 


58  TIIK     TWO     BROTHERS 

short-sighted  or  sportive,  and  that  she  has  just  possessed  herself  of  a 
good  marine  binocular,  Avhich  has  enabled  her  to  doted  in  the  port  of 
Havre    the   son   of  our    good   comrade    Roland,    captain    ol'  the    Perle." 

Applause  leaped  from  every  mouth,  backed  by  claj)ping  of  hands;  and 
the    older    Roland    got   up   to    reply. 

After  a  lit  of  coughing — for  he  felt  his  throat  swelling  and  his  tongue 
a    Lrille  heavy — he  stuttered  : 

"Thanks,  Captain!  Thanks  for  myself  and  my  son.  1  sliall  never 
forget   your    action    on  this    occasion.       Here's    luck    to    you.' 

His  eyes  and  nose  were  full  of  tears,  and  he  sal  tlown  again,  unable 
to   say    more. 

Jean,   with    a  laugh,    set   himself  to   speak  : 

"1  must  thank,"  he  said,  "my  very  devoted  friends  here,  my  excellent 
friends," — he  was  looking  at  Madame  Rosémilly — "who  give  me  to-day 
this  touching  proof  of  their  alFection.  But  1  cannot  show  my  gratitude 
in  words.  1  will  prove  it  to-morrow,  at  every  moment  of  my  life, 
and   always,    for   our    friendship    is   not    of    the    transitory    sort.  " 

His    mother,    greatly    afi'ected,    murmured  : 

"Well    said,    my    boy." 

Hut  Beausire  cried   : 

"Come,    Madame  Rosémilly.    speak  for    llie    fair    sex." 

She  raised  her  glass,  and  with  a  pretty  voice,  having  just  a  shade 
oi    sadness   in    it,    said   : 

"1    drink    to    the    blessed    memory   of   M.    .Maréchal.'' 

There  was  a  little  approval  of  becoming  comj)osurc,  such  as  follows 
a    prayer  ;    and    Beausire,   who    was    prolific   of   comj)liments,   observed  : 

".\h.    only    women   think   of   these    refinements!" 

Tlicn   turning    to    Roland    the    elder,    he    said  : 

"Mow,  what  sort  of  a  fellow  really  was  this  Maréchal'  Vou  must 
have    been    very    intimate    willi    liim?" 

Tlie  old  man,  softened  with  tlrink.  began  to  cry,  and  said  with  a 
broken    voice  : 

"He    was    a    brullier  tlon'l    you    know such    as    you    only    meet 


THF,     TWO     r.HoTHERS 


59 


once    il)    a    lifetime.       \\'e    were     never    apart.       He     dined     with    us    every 

evening ;iiul    made    it   up   l)y    taking-   us   to    tlu'   llieatrc.       That's   all 

all all    I    can  tell  you.       He  was   a    friend.      A  regular regular 

wasn't   he,    Louise?" 

.Viid    liis    wife    answered    ([uietly  : 

"  Yes,    he   was    a   faithliil    IViend. 

I'iciTc  was  looking  al  his  lallier  and  mother;  but,  as  the  conversation 
changed,    he    i)egan    to    drink    again. 

He  remembered  little  of  the  close  of  the  evening.  They  had  had  coflee, 
sipped  liqueurs,  and  laughed  and  joked  a  great  deal.  Then  he  went  to 
bed.  about  niidnigiit,  with  a  confused  mind  and  a  heavy  head.  And  he 
slept    like   an    animal    till    nine    o'clock    in    the    morning. 


IV 


A 


.«i^- 


i 


CHAPTER    IV. 


'I'liAT  slumber,  steeped  in  clKimpagiie  and  tliarlieusc,  nuisl  have  solteiied 
and  calmed  him,  for  he  awdke  wilh  llie  most  heiievoleiit  tlisposilion.  As 
he  was  dressinti'  li(>  balanced,  \\ ciolied,  and  rehearsed  bis  emolions  ol  the 
ni;^lil  before,  Iryinjj^  to  gel  clearly  and  lully  at  tlieii'  real  and  secret  canses 
— the  causes  which  were  personal  ,  as  well  as  those  which  were  outside 
himself. 

No  doubt  it  was  possible  that  the  girl  in  the  drinking-bar  bad  imagiiu'il 
£^n  evil  lliuMght,  the  natinal  thought  of  a  bad  woman,  when  she  beard 
that  only  one  of  two  brothers  inherited  a  fortune  from  a  stranger;  but  are 
not  such  ci-eatures  always  having  suspicions  of  this  kind  about  virtuous 
women,  without  a  shadow  of  reason  ?  Are  they  not  always  heard,  whenever 
they  speak,  insulting,  calumniating,  defaming  the  women  whom  they 
recognize  as  irreproachable  '  Whenever  a  woman  above  blame  is  mentione<l 
before    them,     they    get    angry,    as    ibough     they    were    being    insulted,     and 


64  THE     TWO     n  H  OTHERS 

cry  :  "Oh,  yes,  I  know  nil  ahout  your  married  -women,  and  tlieir  [iropriety. 
They  have  more  dear  friends  llian  we,  but  ihey  hold  their  tongues  ahout 
it,   being  hypocrites.     That  is   their  propriety  !  " 

At  any  other  time  he  would  not  have  understood,  nor  so  much  as  con- 
ceived to  be  possible,  such  insinuations  as  these  against  his  poor  mother, 
good  and  simple  and  worthy  as  she  was.  But  now  his  soul  was  disturbed 
by  the  leaven  of  jealousy  which  was  fermenting  in  him.  His  overexcited 
spirit,  on  the  watch,  as  it  were,  in  spite  of  himself,  for  anything  which 
might  injure  his  brother,  might  have  attributed  to  this  beer-seller  an  odious 
meaning  which   she   never  had. 

His  imagination  alone — that  imajrination  which  he  did  not  hold  in  check, 
which  was  constantly  eluding  his  will — had  roamed  at  large,  boKl.  venture- 
some, and  truculent,  amidst  the  infinite  world  of  ideas,  and  brought 
back  now  and  then  shameful  and  unavowable  conceptions,  which  it  hid  in 
its  lair,  in  the  depths  of  his  soul,  in  unfathomable  recesses,  like  stolen 
things  ;  it  aiiglit  be  that  this  imagination  alone  had  created  or  invented 
this  terrible  suspicion.  His  heart,  surely  his  own  heart  kept  secrets  from 
him  ;  and  had  not  this  injured  heart  discovered  in  this  hateful  suspicion  a 
means  of  depriving  his  brother  of  the  inheritance  of  which  he  was  jealous  ? 
He  suspected  himself,  now,  interrogating  all  the  mysteries  of  his  thoughts, 
as  devotees  question  their  conscience. 

Of  a  truth  Madame  Rosémilly,  though  her  intelligence  was  limited,  had 
a  woman's  tact,  scent,  and  subtle  appreciation.  Now  this  idea  had  not 
occurred  to  her,  since  she  had  drunk  with  |)erfect  simplicity  to  the  sacred 
memory  of  Maréchal.  She  would  not  have  done  that,  if  the  slightest  sus- 
[licion  had  occurred  to  her.  Now  he  could  no  longer  doubt  that  his 
involuntary  disaj)pointment  over  the  fortune  left  to  his  brother,  and  also, 
surely,  his  devout  love  for  his  mother,  had  magnified  his  scruples,  pious 
scruples  and  worthy  of  respect,  even  though  exaggerated. 

When  he  came  to  this  conclusion,  he  was  pleased,  as  we  arc  when  we 
have  peifornied  a  good  action,  and  lu'  resolved  to  behave  nicely  to  every- 
body, and  began  with  his  father,  whose  crotchets,  foolish  statements, 
and   too  conspicuous   poverty   of   mind,   were  always   vexing  him. 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  65 

lie  came  to  breakfast  in  good  time,  and  amused  tlic  whole  family  by 
his   spirit   and   good   humour. 

His  niothci',   delighted,   said   to  him  : 

"  Pierrot,  you  dont  know  how  anmsing  and  witly  you  can  be,  when 
you   try." 

.\nd  he  chatted,  made  jokes,  caused  them  all  to  laugh  by  his  clever 
sketches  ol  their  liieiuls.  Beausire  served  him  as  a  bull,  and  even  Madame 
Rosémilly  in  some  degree,  though  in  a  discreet  manner,  and  wilhoul  malice. 
And  he  thoughl,  as  he  looked  at  his  brother  :  ''  Why  don  1  you  delend 
her,  my  simpleton?  No  matter  how  rich  nou  are,  1  shall  eclipse  you  when 
1   want  to." 

As  they  were   taking   their  cofiee,   he   said    to   his   lather  : 

"Are  you   going  to   use  the  Perle   to-day?" 

"No,    my  boy.  " 

"May   I  have  her,   willi  Jean-Bart?" 

"Of  course  you   may,   as   much   as  you   like." 

He  bought  a  good  cigar  at  the  first  tobacconists  ,  and  went  lightly 
down    lo  the  quay. 

Me  noticed  that  the  sky  was  clear,  bright,  of  a  pale  blue  tint,  refreshed 
and  swept  by  the  sea-breeze. 

The  sailor  I'apagris,  who  was  called  Jean-Bart,  was  asleep  in  llu-  boat 
which  it  \sas  his  business  to  have  ready  at  any  hour  up  lo  midday,  when 
no  one  went   lishinjj'   in    the   mornino-. 

"  We  are  going   to   have   it  to  ourselves,   skipper,  "   said    I'iei  re. 

lie  descended   the   iron   ladder  of  the  quay,    and  jumped    in. 

"  How's   the   wind  ?  "'    he   said. 

"Steady  from  the  east,  M'sieu  I'ierie  \\C  II  have  a  fine  breeze  off 
llic    land.    " 

"  All   right,    governor;   off    wc   go  ! 

They  spread  the  foresail,  and  raised  anchor,  and  I  he  boat,  set  at  liberty, 
glided  slowly  towards  the  pier  on  the  calm  harliour  water.  The  weak 
brealh  of  aii-  blowing  from  llic  low  ii  look  the  lop  of  ihc  sail,  so  gently 
that    it    was    not    fell    by    llicni .    and    the    I'filc    seemed    as    though    animated 


66  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

by  a  life  of  ils  own, — by  a  boat's  life — and  driven  onward  by  a  myste- 
rious inner  force.  Pierre  held  the  rudder,  and,  with  liis  cigar  between  his 
teeth,  his  legs  extended  on  the  bench,  his  eyes  half  closed  against  the 
blinding  rays  of  the  sun,  he  saw  the  great  tarred  beams  of  the  breakwater 
carried    past  him. 

When  they  stood  out  for  the  open  sea,  after  reaching  the  north  ex- 
tremity of  (he  projecting  jetty,  the  fresher  breeze  swept  over  the  doctor's 
face  and  hands  like  a  cold  caress,  entered  his  chest,  which  opened  to 
drink  it  in  with  a  long  sigh,  and,  filling  the  brown  expanding  sail,  made 
the   I'cric   dip   and   assume   fresh    life. 

Suddenly  Jean-Bart  ran  out  the  jib  sail,  whose  triangle,  filled  with  wind, 
looked  like  a  wing,  then  reaching  the  stern  in  a  couple  of  strides,  loos- 
ened   the   l)0(jm,    which   was   lashed    to    the   mast. 

Then,  on  the  side  of  the  boat  which  was  suddenly  dipped  in  the  sea, 
and  racing  now  at  full  sj)eed,  there  came  a  pleasant  and  lively  sound  of 
bubbling,   rushing  water. 

The  prow  clove  the  sea  like  a  ploughshare,  and  the  mounting  wave, 
elastic  and  white  with  foam,  curled  and  fell  again,  as  the  upturned  clods 
of  earth   fall    Hal   and   heavy. 

At  (>very  wave  they  met — and  they  were  short  and  close — the  imj)act 
shook  the  Veile  from  jib-boom  to  helm,  wliicli  (juixcred  in  Piciies  haiul  ; 
ami  wlicn  (lie  wind  blew  stronger,  for  a  few  seconds  [lie  waves  struck 
amidships   as  though   they  would   swamp   the   boat. 

A  steam  coaling -vessel  from  Liverpool  was  at  anchor,  awaiting  the 
tide  ;  ihey  went  about  in  her  rear,  then  approached  one  after  another 
the  ships  lying  in  the  roads,  and  finally  stood  out  from  land  to  see  the 
coast  line. 

Kor  three  hours  Pierre,  calm  and  content,  drifted  on  the  tremvdous 
sea,  steering  as  though  it  were  a  winged  animal,  swift  and  obedient,  this 
creature  of  wood  and  canvas,  whitli  came  and  went  at  his  whim,  uniler 
the   stress   of  his   hngers. 

lie  di'eamed  ,  as  one  dreams  on  horseback,  or  on  the  bridge  of  a 
boat,    thinking   of   his    fuluri-,    which   was    to   be    enviable,    and  ol    the   delight 


THE     TWO     P.ROTIIKRS  .  67 

of  liviii"-  all  intelligent  life.  To-morrow  lie  should  ask  his  hrolhor  to  lend 
liini  llfteen  hundred  francs  for  liiree  months,  whcrewilh  to  settle  liiniself 
al  once  in   the  deliglitful   suite  in   llie    Boidevard   Fianrois  Premier. 

Suddenly   the   sailor  said  : 

"  There's  a  storm  coming,  M'sicu  Pierre.     We  must  put  back.  " 

lie  raised  his  eyes,  and  saw  towards  the  north  a  grey  shadow,  low  and 
light,  blotting  out  the  sky  and  spreading  over  the  sea,  hurrying  up  to 
them,   as   though   it  were  a    cloud    fallen   from   heaven. 

lie  put  about,  and  with  tiie  wind  heliinil  them  steered  for  the  jetty. 
folhnved  close  by  the  rapidly  advancing  storm.  When  it  touciietl  the 
Perle,  enfolding  it  in  its  imperceptible  mist,  a  cold  shudder  ran  through 
Pierre's  limbs,  and  a  whilf  of  smoke  ami  damp.  l]u>  strange  smell  of 
the  sea  fog,  made  him  close  his  mouth,  that  he  might  not  taste  this  wet 
and    iev   cloud. 

When  liie  boat  was  moored  again,  the  town  was  already  completely 
buried  under  this  thin  vapour,  which,  without  falling,  damped  one  like 
rain,    and    sank   down   upon   houses   and   streets   like   a    flowing  stream. 

Pierre,  whose  feet  and  hands  were  nip})ed,  walked  home  ipuckly.  and 
threw  himself  on  his  bed,  so  as  to  gel  a  do/.e  before  dinner.  \\  hen 
he  made  his  appearance  in  the  dining-room  ,  his  mother  was  saying 
to  Jean  : 

"  The  oallerv  will  be  charmino'.  We  will  have  (lowers  there.  You 
will  see  !  I  shall  look  alter  them,  and  see  to  their  renewal.  When  you 
give    parties,    it   will    look   sini|)ly    (airy-like. 

"What  are  yon    talking  of.*"    llie   doctor  asked. 

"  Of  a  delightful  suite  of  rooms  which  I  have  just  taken  for  your 
brother.  It  was  (pnte  a  (iuti — an  riilresol.  between  two  streets.  It  has  two 
drawintj-rooms,  a  n-lass-covcred  corridor,  and  a  little  round  dnnng-room  — 
simplv   delighldil    (or   a    bachelor. 

Pierre   turned   white.     .\    lit  of  rage  seizeil    his   heart. 

"  Where  is  it  ?"   he  asked. 

"On   llie    liuiilevard    f'laiuois   Premier." 

lie   hail    no    further  (l..id>l,    and    sank    into    a   seat,   so  annoyed   thai   he    was 


68  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

on  the  point  of  crying  :  "This  is  too  much!  There  is  nothing,  save  for  him!" 

His  beaming  mother  went  on   talking  : 

"  Anil  just  imagine  that  I  have  secured  that  for  two  thousand  eight 
hundred  francs.  They  wanted  three  thousand,  hut  I  got  ihem  to  take  off 
two  liuiidred  by  making  an  agreement  for  three,  six,  or  nine  years.  Your 
brother  will  be  delightfullv  situated.  An  elegant  house  is  enough  to  make 
an  a\'oc(it's  fortune.  It  attracts  a  client,  charms  him,  retains  him,  inspires 
him  with  respect,  and  gives  him  to  understand  that  a  man  lodged  in 
that    fashion    receives    a    good    price    for   his    speeches.  " 

She   was    silent   for  a   few  seconds,   and   continued  : 

"  We  must  find  something  similar  for  you,  much  more  modest,  because 
you  have  nothing,  but  fairly  nice  all  the  same.  I  assure  you  that  il  will 
help  you   on   considerably. 

Pierre  replied,   scornfully   : 

"  Oh,   it   is   by  work    and   knoAvledge   that   1   shall  get  (ju. 

Mis   mother   insisted  on  her  point  : 

"Yes,    but    I    assure   you   that   pretty   apartments  will    help    you " 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  meal  he   suddenly   asked  a  question. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  know  this  Maréchal  ?  " 

His  father  raised  his  head,   and  went  l)ack   in   his  memory  : 

"Wait  a  bit;  1  am  not  very  clear  in  my  recollections.  It  is  so  long 
ago.  Oh,  yes,  1  remember.  Your  mother  made  his  acquaintance  in  ihc 
shop — did  you  not,  Louise  ?  lie  had  come  to  order  something,  anil  he 
came  back  again  pretty  often;  we  knew  him  as  a  customer,  before 
know  ing  him   as  a  friend.  " 

Pierre,    who    Avas    eating   haricot    beans,    and    transfixed    them    one    after 
another    on    the    point    of   his    fork,    went    on    : 
•'  At  what  date  was   that  acipiainlance   made  ? 

Roland  runiiualed  again,  but,  rcuuMubcring  no  more,  he  ajjpealed  to 
his  wife's  recollections. 

"Let    us    see,    Louise.       You    c;iniu>t    have    forgotten,    with    your    good 

memory?     Let  us  see.       It  was  in — ^in — in  fifty-five  or  fifty-six? Think; 

you   ought   to   know   it   better   liiau    1." 


rill';    TWO    i;kotiii:iis  69 

Slic  ihought  for  sonic  time,  accordingly  ;  and  llien.  with  a  steady  and 
tranquil  voice,   replied  : 

•jl  \v;is  in  (ifty-eight,  my  dear.  Pierre  was  llicii  lliree  years  old.  I  ;un 
sure  I  am  right,  for  it  was  the  year  when  the  child  had  scarlatina,  and 
Maréchal,  whom  we  knew  very  slightly  at  the  time,  was  a  great  help  lo  us." 

Roland  exclaimed  : 

'■  True,  true  !  Nay,  he  was  admirable.  .Vs  your  mother  was  tireil  oui, 
and  I  was  Itusy  iti  my  shop,  he  used  to  go  to  the  dis|)enser's  lor  your 
medicine.  lie  was  intleetl  a  good-hearted  fellow.  .Vnd  when  vou  were 
cured,  you  cannot  imagine  how  j)leased  he  was,  and  how  he  kissed  you. 
From    that   moment   we  became  great  friends.  " 

.Vnd  this  thought,  sudden,  violent,  enteretl  Pierre's  heart  like  a  bullet 
which  ])ierces  and  tears  the  llesh  :  "Since  he  knew  me  first,  and  was  so 
lontl  of  me,  since  he  liked  me,  and  kisseil  me  so  much,  since  I  was  the 
cause  of  his  givat  attachment  lo  my  parents,  why  did  he  leave  all  his 
fortune    to    my    brother,    and    nothing    to    me  ?  " 

He  asked  no  more  (piestions ,  and  continued  silent,  rather  absorbed 
than  in  thought,  retaining  a  new  source  of  restlessness,  vague  as  yet^ 
the  hitlden  germ  of  a   new  trouble. 

lie  went  out  early,  and  began  to  roam  the  streets  again.  They  were 
buried  in  the  fog.  which  made  the  night  oppressive,  dark,  and  unwhole- 
some. Il  was  like  a  pestilential  smoke,  beaten  down  upon  the  ground, 
it  was  visible  as  it  passed  over  the  gas-jets,  which  at  times  it  almost 
extinguished.  The  pavements  grew  slippery,  as  after  frosty  nights,  and 
all  kinds  of  evil  odours  seemed  to  come  Iroin  within  the  houses  stinks 
of  the  cellars,  of  the  cesspools,  of  the  drains,  of  scpialid  kitchens — to 
mingle  with   the   frightful   smell   ol    this  creeping  fog. 

Pierre,  with  round  back,  and  hands  in  his  pockets,  unwilling  lo  icmain 
outside  in   the  cold,    ht'look    himsell    lo   .Marowsko's. 

Undrr  the  gas-jet  A\hl(  li  kept  watch  for  liiin  ,  the  old  dispenser  was 
sleeping  as  usual.  When  he  recognized  Pierre,  whom  he  loxcd  with  ihc 
love  of  ;\  faithful  dog,  he  shook  off  his  ilrowsiness,  went  to  lelch  a 
couple  of  glasses,   and  brought  the  groscillette. 


70  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  how  are  you  getting  on  with  your  liqueur?" 

The  Pole  informed  him  that  four  of  the  principal  cafe's  in  the  town 
had  agreed  to  put  it  in  circulation,  and  that  the  Phare  de  la  Côte,  anil 
the  Sémaphore  havrais  would  pull'  it,  in  exchange  for  a  few  drugs  which 
he  was  to  place  at  the  service  of  the  staff. 

After  a  long  silence  ,  Marowsko  asked  if  Jean  had  come  into  his 
inheritance;  then  he  put  two  or  lliree  other  vague  questions  on  the  same 
subject.  Mis  jealous  devotion  to  Pierre  revolted  against  this  preference. 
And  Pierre  fancied  that  he  could  hear  him  thinking  aloud;  guessed  and 
understood,  read  in  his  averted  eyes,  in  the  hesilaliug  tone  of  his  voice,  the 
phrases  which  came  to  his  lips  and  which  he  did  not  speak  out — which 
he  would  not  speak  out,   being  so  prudent,   timid,   and  crafty. 

Now  he  could  doubt  no  lonoer  ;  the  old  man  was  thinking  :  "You 
ought  not  to  have  let  him  accept  this  legacy,  which  will  get  your  mother 
ill  spoken  of.  "  Perhaps  he  even  thought  that  Jean  was  Maréchal's  son. 
Certainly  he  thought  it!  How  should  he  not  think  it,  so  likely,  so  probable, 
so  manifest  it  seemed  to  be!  But  as  for  him,  Pierre,  the  son,  had  he  not 
been  striving  with  all  his  force,  with  all  the  subtlety  of  his  heart,  to  deceive 
his  reason,   had  he  not  been  striving  against  this  terrible  suspicion? 

And  again,  suddenly,  the  need  for  being  alone  in  order  to  think,  to 
discuss  it  with  himself,  to  face  this  possible,  yet  monstrous  thing  boldly, 
without  scruple,  without  weakness,  came  upon  him  in  such  overmas- 
tering force,  that  he  got  uj)  without  even  drinking  his  glass  of  groseillette, 
grasped  the  hand  of  the  astonished  dispenser,  and  plunged  again  into 
the    fog   of  the   streets. 

He  kept  saying  to  himself  :  "  Why  did  this  .Maréchal  leave  all  his 
fortune    to   Jean  ?  " 

It  was  not  jealousy  now,  which  made  him  ask  this;  it  was  no  longer 
the  rather  mean  ,  yet  natural  envy  which  he  had  been  able  to  keep 
concealed  within  him,  and  wliicli  he  had  combated  for  three  davs  past, 
but  the  dread  of  a  terrible  thing,  the  dread  of  believing  fur  himself  that 
his    brother  was    the    son    of   this    man  ! 

No,    he    did    not   believe    it.       He    could    not   even    put    such    a    criminal 


THE     TWO     lîIKiTlir.US  71 

question  Id  himself.  Bui  il  was  necessary  that  this  suspicion,  so  sliglit, 
so  improbable,  should  be  rejected  by  him  ultcriy  and  for  ever.  He  must 
have  light,  certainty,  complete  security  in  his  mind  ;  for  his  mother  was 
the   only   creature  in  the  world   whom   he  loved. 

Anil  as  he  wandered  alone  through  the  night  ,  he  would  make  a 
searching  incpiitv  in  lus  memory,  in  his  understanding,  from  which  tlic 
conspicuous  Lrulh  shniild  stand  oui.  After  that  was  done,  he  wouhl  ihink 
of   it   no   more — never    more.      He   would    go    to    sleep. 

'•Come  now, '"  he  mused,  ''  let  us  first  examine  the  facts.  Then  I 
will  recall  everything  1  knew  ol  him,  of  his  behaviour  towards  my  brother 
and   myseli.      1    will  search   out   all   the   causes  which   coukl   su[)ply  a   motive 

fur  this  preference lie  saw  Jean  born  ?     Yes,    but  he  knew  me  before 

that — If  he  had  loved  my  niolhcr  with  a  silenl  anil  reserved  love,  I  should 
have  been  |)referred ,  because  it  was  through  me,  through  my  scarlet 
fever,  that  he  became  the  intimate  friend  of  my  parents.  Logically,  there- 
fore he  ought  to  have  made  choice  of  me,  to  have  possessed  for  me  a 
more  lively  tenderness,  unless  he  felt  for  my  brother,  as  he  saw  him 
grow  up,   some  instinctive  attraction   and  predilection.  " 

Then  he  searched  his  memory ,  with  a  desperate  application  of  his 
whole  mind,  his  whole  inlcllectual  power,  to  build  up  again,  to  perceive 
once  more,  to  renew  acquaintance  with,  and  enter  into  the  man — this  man 
\\\\i>  had  been  lamiliai'  lo  him,  ihough  indiffercnl  l(.)  his  heart,  throughout 
iiis    life    in    Paris. 

I'ul  he  Icll  ihal  walking,  the  slight  movement  ol  his  steps,  somewhat 
ilislurbed  his  ideas,  interfered  w'ith  their  steadiness,  weakened  their  eflect, 
and  dimmetl  his  memory. 

In  order  to  east  back  upon  the  past,  and  its  uncomj)rehendeil  events, 
the  keen  regard  Irom  which  nolhing  ought  lo  escape,  he  must  be  motion- 
less in  some  vasl  and  empty  space.  And  he  (h'cided  to  go  and  sit  upon 
the  pier,   as  he  hail  done  two  nights  ago. 

.\s  he  drew  near  the  harbour  he  heard  from  the  open  sea  a  sinister 
cry,  like  the  bellowing  of  a  bull,  but  longer  and  nime  poweiful.  It  was 
the    sound    of   a    ■siren" — ihe    ciy    oi'    shi|)s    lost    in    llie    fog. 

10 


72  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

A  shudder  stirred  his  flesh  and  contracted  his  heart,  so  strongly  had 
it  resounded  in  his  soul  and  in  his  nerves,  this  cry  of  distress  which  he 
thought  he  had  uttered  himself.  Another  sound  of  the  same  kind  pealed 
out,  at  a  somewhat  greater  distance;  then,  close  to  him,  the  harbour 
signal,  responding  to  these,  sent  fortli  a  harrowing  scream. 

Pierre  reached  the  pier  with  long  strides,  thinking  of  nothing  more, 
content  to  be  Avithin  these  mournful  and   howling  shades. 

When  he  had  taken  his  seat  on  the  extremity  of  the  breakwater,  he 
closed  his  eyes,  that  he  might  not  see  the  electric  lights,  veiled  in  the 
mist,  which  make  it  possible  to  enter  the  harbour  by  night,  or  the  red 
flame  of  the  lighthouse  on  the  southern  pier,  which,  however,  could  scarcely 
be  distinguished. 

Then ,  half  turned  round ,  he  rested  his  elbows  on  the  granite ,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

In  thought,  though  he  did  not  pronounce  the  word  witli  his  lips,  he 
kept   repeating,   as  if  to  summon  him,  to  evoke  and  call   forth  his    shade  : 

"  Maréchal  !     Maréchal  !  " 

And  in  the  darkness,  under  his  closed  eyelids,  he  suddeidy  saw  him, 
just  as  he  had  known  him.  lie  was  a  man  of  sixty,  with  a  pointed  Avhite 
beard,  and  thick  eyebrows  equally  white.  He  was  neither  tall  nor  short; 
he  had  a  pleasant  aspect,  grey  and  tender  eyes,  modest  demeanour,  the 
bearing  of  a  good,  simple,  and  aflcctionate  man.  He  used  to  call  Pierre 
and  Jean  ''my  dear  children,"'  had  never  seemed  to  prefer  one  to  the 
other,    and    used    to    have    them    both    to    dinner. 

And  i'ierre ,  with  the  tenacity  of  a  dog  which  (bliows  a  dispersed 
scent,  set  himself  to  examine  the  words,  gestures,  intonations,  looks  of 
this  man  w^ho  had  disappeared  from  the  world.  He  brought  him  back, 
little  by  little,  in  his  a|iarlment  in  ihe  Wuc  Tronchet,  when  he  used  to 
have  his  brother  and  himself  at  his  table. 

Two  maids  used  t(j  wait  on  them,  both  old,  who  had  long  since  grown 
accustomed  to  speak  of  ''Monsieur  Pierre"  and   "Monsieur  Jean." 

Maréchal  would  stretch  out  iiis  two  hands  to  the  youngsters,  his  right 
to  one  and  his  left  to  the  other,  just  as  they   happened  to  enter. 


Ht 


'im^.- 


TIIK     TWO     nnOTIIKRS  73 

"  Good  clay,  inv  cliildrcn,  "  he  would  say,  '^  have  you  luMid  from  your 
parents  ?     They  never  wiile   lo  ine.  " 

They  used  to  talk  of  ordinary  matters,  pleasantly  and  fainiliarly.  There 
was  nothing  original  in  llic  niiiul  ni  this  man.  but  niucli  anu'iiilx',  cliai'm, 
and  grace.  lie  was  certainly  a  good  friend  to  them,  one  of  those  good 
friends    of  whom    we    scarcely    think,    hecause   we    are    so    sure    of  them. 

Now  recollections  hcgan  to  Hood  the  mind  ol  Pierre.  Seeing  him 
anxious  now  and  then,  and  guessing  his  poverty  as  a  student,  Maréchal 
had  oHeicd  and  Iciil  him  money,  a  few  hundred  francs  perhaps,  forgotten 
on  holli  sides,  and  ncvci-  ])aid  back.  So  this  man  always  loved  him.  was 
always  interestcnl  in  hiui.  seeing  that  he  troubled  Inmscll  about  his  \\anls. 
'I'licn  —  then  wliv  leav<-  all  liis  foitiine  to  .lean  :'  No,  he  had  never 
been  jierceptibly  more  affectionate  towards  the  yoiuiger  than  towards  the 
elder,    more    taken    iij)    with    one    than    with     ihe    other,    less    tender   to    all 

appearances    with   om^    llian   \\\\\\    the   other.      'IMien     —  then there   must 

have  been  a  powerful  and  secret  reason  for  gi\ing  ail  to  Jean — all — and 
nothing  to  Pierre.  The  more  he  thouiiht  of  il,  ihe  more  he  re\i\'C(l  ihe 
liilci-  years  of  ihe  pasi,  the  more;  the  doctor  consitlcrcd  this  dilfcrencc  created 
between    the   two   unlikely   and    incredible. 

.\ml    a    sharp    pain,    an    umilterable    anguish    invaded    his    breast,    causing 

his  heart    to   beat   like   a    fluttering  scai'f.      Its  springs  setuned    Id   he   broken, 

and    llic    IiIdikI    Ihiwed    in    stroii"'   waves,    sliakiri"'    it   wiili    a    liiundtiious    ni>li. 

I  lien,    half  aloud,   as  one  speaks   in   a   nightmare,    he   nniiuiured   :    '"!    must 

know.      ()li.    Odd!      I    nnisl    know." 

Now  lie  gn>|)('d  iurllicr.  in  the  more  distant  days  \\  luui  his  parents 
were  living  in  Paiis.  i'.ut  the  faces  escaped  him  ,  and  this  dinnucd  his 
recollections,  lie  was  especially  eager  to  gel  back  to  Maréchal,  with  his 
hair — was  it  linhl.  brown,  nr  black  '  lie  coidd  nol  do  it,  the  last  face 
ol  the  man,  his  old  lace,  having  bloltcd  out  the  others.  Yet  \\c  renuun- 
bered  that  he  was  moi-e  slender,  thai  he  had  a  soft  hand,  and  that  he 
oltcn  carried  llowcrs — ver\'  often  ,  lor  his  father  was  always  saNang  : 
"  .More  bouquets  !  'i'his  is  madness,  my  dear  fellow.  Von  will  ruin 
\ourscli    in    roses.  " 


74  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

Maréchal   used   to  answer  :    "Oh,   never   mhid  ;   it   is   a   pleasure   to   me." 

And  suddenly  his  mother's  voice,  as  she  smiled  and  said  "  Thank  you, 
my  friend  !  "  crossed  his  mind,  so  clearly  that  he  thought  he  heard  it. 
She  must  have  said  it  very  often,  for  these  four  words  to  he  thus  engraven 
in   tlie  memory  of  her  son  ! 

So,  Maréchal  used  to  hring  flowers — he,  the  rich  man,  the  gentleman, 
llic  customer — to  the  little  shopkeeper,  to  tlie  wife  of  llie  uiodest  jeweller. 
Had  lie  loved  her  ?  How  could  lie  have  become  the  friend  of  these  trades- 
people, if  he  had  not  loved  the  wife?  He  was  a  man  of  culture,  of 
considerable  refinement.  How  often  had  he  spoken  about  poets  and  poetry 
to  Pierre  !  He  did  not  appreciate  authors  like  a  critic  .  hut  like  an 
average  man  capable  of  being  thrilled.  The  doctor  had  often  smiled  at 
these  soft  emotions,  which  he  considered  rather  silly.  Now  he  understood 
that  this  sentimental  man  could  never  have  been  the  friend  of  his  father, 
his  positive,  worldly,  dull  father,  foi-  whom  the  word  '"jioetry"  was  équi- 
valent to   foolishness. 

This  Maréchal,  then,  young,  free,  rich,  ready  for  any  degree  of  ten- 
derness, had  come  one  day  into  the  shop,  by  mere  chance,  having  possibly 
observed  a  pretty  shopkeeper.  He  had  bought,  come  again,  chatted  more 
familiarly  every  day,  paying  by  frequent  purchases  for  the  right  of  sitting 
in  this  house,  smiling  on  the  young  wife,  and  shaking  the  hauil  of  her 
hushaud. 

And   then   afterwards — afterwards Oh,   God  ! afterwartis  ! 

He  h.id  taken  to  and  caressed  the  first  child,  the  jeweller's  cliikl.  up 
to  the  hiilh  n{  the  other:  then  hi'  had  continued  impenetrable  until  death; 
and  then,  \\  hen  his  tomb  was  closed,  his  body  dissolved,  his  name  wij)ed 
out  of  the  book  of  the  living,  his  whole  existence  disappeared  for  ever, 
having  nothing  more  to  do,  to  fear,  or  to  hide,  he  had  given  his  whole 
fortune    to    the   youngest    child  ! ^^  hy  ? 

The    man    was    intelligent he    must    have    understood    and    foreseen 

that  he  might  -that  he  almost  inevitably  must  have  caused  pe()j)le  to 
conclude  that  this  child  was  his  own.  Then  he  would  be  bringing  disgrace 
on   a  woman  .'      How  coulil   he   have   done   thai  if  Jean   was   not  his  son  ? 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  75 

Ami  ;ill  ill  once  a  precise  and  Icriililc  rccollcclioii  crosscHl  Pierre's 
miiul.  Maréchal  was  lair,  as  fair  as  Jean.  ilc  remembered  now  a  little 
miniature  portrait  wjii»  Ii  lie  lia<l  once  seen  in  Paris,  on  tlicir  diawing- 
roi>m  manlel-piccc ,  which  had  disappeared.  Where  was  it  i'  Lost  or 
concealed  ?  Oii.  it  he  cdiild  liave  it  in  his  hands  lor  no  more  liian  a 
second  !  ills  moliicr  liad  ivcpl  it,  |)erhaps,  in  that  private  drawei-  where 
one    keeps    tlie    mementos    ot    love. 

His  distress  at  this  thou^iit  hccame  so  hanowing  that  he  uttered  a 
groan  ,  one  of  those  sliorl  laments  tcu'ii  from  tlie  breast  by  too  acute 
pains.  And  sudcU'rdv.  as  il  it  luui  licard  liim  ,  as  d  il  iiad  undcrshiod 
and  rcsponilcd  to  liim,  tiu'  piei'  signai  liowicd  (piite  close  to  inm.  Its 
clamour,  as  ot  a  supernatural  monster,  MU)re  icsonant  than  lininder,  a 
savage  and  lurmldai)ic  roar  created  to  oNcrcome  tiu-  voices  ol  liu'  wiiul 
and  waves,  sprcati  through  the  darkness  over  the  inxisihie  sea,  buried 
bcncalii    I  lie    logs. 

Tlicn  llnougii  tiie  nust ,  near  or  lar  oil,  similar  sounds  were  laised 
again  in  ihc  dailvuess.  'Piicv  were  terrible,  these  cries  uttered  by  tlie 
great    i)iind    steamers.      Then    ail    was    still    again. 

I'icri'c  had  opened  his  eyes,  and  was  looking  aijout  him,  surprised  to 
liiul    himseir   there,    awakened    from    liis    niglitnuire. 

■■  I    aui    mad."    he    tliought,    '"  I    am    suspecting    mv    mother." 

.Viul  a  rush  ol  love  and  teiulerness,  of  repentance,  of  pia\-er,  and  deso- 
lalion.  overwhelmed  his  heart.  His  motlici-  !  Knowing  Ler  as  he  ilid, 
how  coidd  lie  have  suspected  her  ?  Were  not  the  soul  and  the  life  of 
this  simple,  xirliioiis,  and  loval  woman  more  trans|)ai'ent  than  water.'  To 
see  and  lo  know  her.  how  was  it  |)Ossible  not  to  think  her  beyond 
reproach  .'  .\n<l  It  was  he,  her  son,  who  had  doubled  her  !  Oh.  il  he 
could  lia\c  lakeii  lier  in  his  arms  at  this  moineni  .  how  he  would  lia\e 
kissed    and     rondled     her,    how     he    would     have     knell     to    her,    aiul     beiiyed 

^  DO 

her    to    |iai(!(iii     Inm   ! 

Slie.    (I(rei\e    Ills    lallier   -she!  His    father!      Siirelv    he    was    a    good 

man  .    Iioiininable     and     iipii^;lil     in  liiisine^-..     llioiij^li     his     mind     had     never 

crossed    the    hoii/.on     ol      his     shop  How     eoiild     this    woman,    once    very 


7G  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

pretty,  as  he  knew  and  could  still  see,  endowed  witli  a  delicate,  affec- 
tionate, tender  soid  ,  liave  accepted  a  man  who  differed  I'lom  her  so 
greatly,   as  a   lover  and  a  husband  ? 

Why  ask  ?  She  hatl  married,  as  girls  will  marry,  the  well-to-do  man 
whom  I  heir  parents  bring  before  them.  They  had  established  themselves 
forthwith  in  their  shoj)  in  ihe  Rue  MonLmarlre.  and  the  young  wife,  mis- 
tress al  the  desk,  animated  by  the  s|)iri[  of  the  new  home,  bv  the  subtle 
and  sacred  sense  of  common  interest  which  is  a  substitute  for  love,  and 
even  for  affection  ,  in  most  of  the  tradesmen's  households  of  Paris ,  had 
s(^t  hei'self  to  work  with  her  whole  active  and  acute  intelligence  (or  the 
hoped-lor  prosperity  of  ihcir  house.  And  her  life  had  passed  in  this  way, 
uniform,    trancjnil,    \irtuous,    without    love  ! 

Without    love  ? Was   it   possible    that   a    woman    should    not    love  ? 

A  young  and  pretty  woman,  living  in  Paris,  reading  books,  applauding 
actresses  who  die  of  passion  on  the  stage,  could  she  pass  from  youth 
to  old  age,  and  her  lu>art  not  be  even  once  touched  ?  He  would  not 
believe  it  of  another  woman — why  believe  it  of  his   mother  ? 

Certainly  she  might  have  loved,  like  any  one  else  !  For  wliv  should  she 
be  different  from  any  one  else,   though  she  was  his   mother  ? 

She  had  been  young,  with  all  the  poetic  weaknesses  which  affect  the 
heart  ol  the  young!  Shut  up,  imprisonctl  in  the  shop,  with  a  vulgar 
husband  always  talking  of  trade,  she  hail  dreanuMi  of  moonlight,  of  travels, 
ol  kisses  under  the  shade  of  night.  Anil  then  a  man  one  day  had  come 
in,    as    lovers    come   in    books,    and    he    had    spoken    as    they    speak. 

She  had  loved  him.  Why  not!'  But  she  was  his  mother.  \>'ell  !  Need 
he  be  so  blind  and  stupiil  as  to  reject  evidence  because  his  mother  was 
in    ipjestion  ? 

Had  she  yielded  ?-  -  Yes,  for  this  man  had  no  other  i'emale  friend. 
Yes,  lor  he  had  remained  faithful  to  the  woman  when  she  was  at  a 
distance  and  grown  old.  Yes,  for  he  had  left  liis  whole  lorlune  to  his 
son,   to  their  son  ! 

And  Pierre  rose,  trend)lino-  with  such  raye  that  he  could  have  made 
uj)    his    mind    to    kill     somebody?       His    outstretched    aim,    his    open    hand, 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  77 

itched    to    strike,    to    wound,    to    crush,    to    strangle.      Whom  ?      Every   one. 
His    father,    his    brother;    tlic    dead    man,    his    mother! 

He    rusheil    homeward.      What    did    lie    mean    lo    do  ? 

.Vs  he  passed  a  turret  iieai'  the  signal  mast,  the  strident  cry  of  the 
siren  exploded  in  his  i'ace.  His  surprise  was  so  great  that  he  was  near 
falling,  anil  lie  staggered  back  lo  the  granite  parapet.  He  sat  down 
there,    destitute    of  strength,    shattered    l)v    the    uproar. 

The  steamer  which  was  first  to  respond  seemed  quite  close  to  him. 
and   lay    at    the   entrance   of  the   harbour,      it    was    high    tide. 

Pierre  turned  round,  and  saw  its  red  eye  diiiimed  with  mist.  Then, 
under  the  illumination  diflused  by  the  electric  lights  of  the  harbour,  a 
great  black  shadow  could  be  traced  bclween  the  two  jetties.  Behind  him 
the  voice  of  the  watchman,  the  hoarse  voice  of  an  ohi  retired  captain,  cried  : 

••  Ships    name  ?  " 

And  amid  the  fog  the  voice  of  the  pilot  standing  on  the  bridge, 
hoarse   like    the   other,   made    answer. 

''  Santa   Lucia  I  " 

''  Country  ?  " 

••  Italy  !" 

"  Port  ?" 

"  Naples.  " 

And  Pierre  thought  that  he  saw  before  his  tiisordered  gaze  the  licry 
plume  of  Vesuvius,  whilst  at  the  foot  ol  the  volcano  lirc-tbes  were  darting 
in  the  orange-thickets  of  Sorrento  or  Castellamare.  How  often  had  he 
dreameil  of  these  familial'  uauies,  as  though  he  iiad  known  the  countries  ! 
Oh,  if  he  could  lia\c  dcpailed,  at  once,  no  matter  where,  and  never  come 
back,  never  written,  never  let  them  know  what  had  become  of  him  !  Uut 
no;    he    must    go    back,    home   to   his    fathers    house,    and    slce|)    iu    his    bed! 

But  he  would  not  go  back.  He  would  wail  lor  daylight,  'fhe  sound 
of  the  '-sirens"  pleased  him.  He  rose  and  began  to  walk,  like  an  oHicer 
keeping    his    watch    on    the    l)ridge. 

Another    ship    .ipproachcd    luliind     the    ilist  ,    eiu>ruu)us    anil     mysterious. 

It    was    an    Englishman,    homeward    bound    houi    India. 


78 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS 


"He  saw  several  others,  emerging  one  hy  one  from  the  impenetrable 
shadow.  Then,  as  the  damp  of  the  fog  became  intolerable,  Pierre  set  off 
on  his  way  to  the  town.  He  was  so  cold  that  he  went  into  a  sailors' 
café  to  get  a  glass  of  spirits  ;  antl  when  the  hot  and  spiced  brandy  had 
burned  his   palate  and   throat,   he  felt  a  hope  reviving  within  him. 

Perhaps  he  was  mistaken  ?  He  knew  that  extravagant  folly  of  his  so 
well  !  He  must  iiave  deceived  himself.  He  had  piled  up  the  proofs  as 
one  draws  up  an  indictment  against  an  innocent  man,  whom  it  is  always 
easy  to  convict  when  one  is  minded  to  think  him  guilty.  He  would  think 
very  diderently  when  he  had  slept.  So  he  went  home  and  to  bed  ;  and, 
by   force   of  will,    he    succeeded   in    falling   asleep. 


^iX^^: 


\iMf  ^ .  w^;^vw^^r 


V 


,.U"  ■■'*»v( 


mm^^^^*^""'^ 


i4. 


'xf.^ 


jjr-t 


CHAPTER    V, 


But  the  .loclor  barely  slept  an  hour  or  t^vo,  in  a  restless  and  troubled 
slumber.  When  he  awoke,  in  llu-  darkness  of  his  warn,  and  eiosed 
room,  he  felt,  even  before  his  lho.i,i.hts  were  clear  again,  that  painful 
oppression  an.l  disturbance  of  soul  whi.h  the  grief  on  wluch  we  sleep 
leaves  within  us.  It  is  as  though  the  u.dmppincss  whose  impact  only 
shocked  us  overnight,  had  crept  during  sleep  into  our  very  llesh,  whuh 
it  hurt  and  wearnni  l,kc  a  fever.  Su.hlrnly  recollection  came  back  to 
him,    and    he    sat    up    in    bed. 

Then  he  began  agan,.  slowly,  ..no  by  one,  all  the  arguments  wluch 
had  inilu.rd  his  hrarl  -m  liu-  pier,  amidst  the  clamour  of  the  sirens. 
The  MX.,.,  he  tiumght,  the  less  he  doubted.  He  fell  himself  drawn  by 
Ins    logic,    as    though    by    a    dragging    and    strangling    hand,    tu    intolerable 


82  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

certainty.  lie  was  thirsty  and  hot,  and  his  heart  thumped.  lie  got  up 
to  open  the  window  and  breathe,  and  when  he  was  on  his  feel  a  hght 
sound    reached    him    through    the   wall. 

Jean  was  sleeping  lightly,  ami  snoring  a  little.  He  could  sleep  !  lie 
had  foreboded  nothine-,  guessed  nothing.  A  man  who  had  known  their 
mollicr  had  left  him  all  his  fortune.  lie  took  the  money,  thinking  il 
right  and  naluial.  lie  slept,  lith  and  satisfied,  without  knowing  that 
his  brother  was  panting  with  j)ain  and  distress.  And  anger  rose  withiiT 
him  at   this  careless   and   contented   snorer. 

Last  night  he  would  have  knocked  at  the  door,  entered,  and  sitting  by 
the  bed,  would  have  said  to  him  in  the  affright  ol  his  sudden  awakening  : 
"Jean,  you  must  not  keep  this  legacy,  which  to-morrow  might  cause  our 
mother  to  be  suspected   of  dishonour.  " 

But  to-day  he  could  no  longer  speak;  he  could  not  tell  Jean  that  he 
did  not  believe  him  to  be  the  sou  of  iheir  father.  He  must  now  keep 
anil  bury  within  him  this  shame  which  he  had  discovered,  hid(!  from  all 
the  blot  which  he  had  perceived,  and  which  no  man  must  detect;  not 
even    his    brother — above    all,    not    his    brother. 

He  scarcely  thought  now  of  idle  regard  for  what  people  might  think. 
He  would  have  been  willing  that  everybody  should  accuse  his  mother,  pro- 
vided he  knew  her  to  be  innocent — he,  and  he  alone.  How  could  he 
endure  to  live  by  her  side,  day  by  day,  and  to  believe,  as  he  looked  at 
her.    lliat    his    brother   was    the    child    of   a    stranger? 

How  calm  and  serene  she  was,  nolwillistanding  !  How  self-possessed 
she   seemed    to    he. 

\\'as  it  possible  that  a  woman  such  as  she  was,  a  woman  of  pure  soul 
and  good  heart,  could  fall  a  victim  to  passion,  with  no  after-appearance 
of  remorse,    no    recollections   of  a    troubled  conscience  ? 

Ah!  remorse!  remorse!  It  must  once  have  troubled  her,  in  the  earlier 
days,  and  then  have  been  blotted  out,  as  everything  is  blotted  out.  Surely 
she  had  mourned  her  fault,  and  had  gradually  all  but  forgotten  it.  Have 
not  all  women,  willioul  e.vception,  this  prodigious  power  of  forgetlulness, 
which  scarcely  even   permils   Llicm   to  recall,   after  the  lapse  of  a   few  years, 


TUE     TWO     BROTHERS  83 

the  man  to  whom  ihcy  have  wholly  abandoned  themselves  ?  The  kiss 
strikes  like  lightning,  love  [)asscs  like  a  storm  .  and  then  life  grows  calm 
again  like    the   sky,   and  goes  on  as  of  old.     Does  one  remember  a  cloud? 

Pierre  could  stay  in  his  chamber  no  longer.  This  house,  his  father's 
house,  o])|)rcssed  him.  The  roof  seemed  to  weigh  upon  his  head,  and 
the  walls  to  smother  him.  .\n(l  ;is  he  was  very  thirsty,  he  lighted  his 
candle  in  mdcr  to  o-o  and  (hink  a  (jlass  of  cool  water  irom  the  filter 
ill  liic  kitchen,  lie  went  down  tiic  two  flights,  and  then,  as  lie  was  going 
up  again  willi  tlic  laiafc  lull,  he  sat  down  in  his  shirt  on  the  stairs,  where 
there  was  a  current  of  air.  and  drank,  without  a  glass,  long  draughts  of 
water,  like  a  ruiiiicr  who  is  out  of  breath.  When  he  had  ceased  to  move 
about,  the  silence  of  the  house  troubled  him;  then  he  heard  the  slightest 
noises,  one  by  one,  first  it  was  the  clock  of  the  dining-room,  whose 
ticking  seemed  to  grow  louder  every  moment.  Then  he  heard  a  snoring 
again,  the  snoring  of  an  old  man,  short,  difficult,  and  hard;  his  father's, 
no  doubt;  and  he  was  irritated  by  the  itlea,  as  though  it  had  only  just 
occurred  to  him,  that  these  two  men  who  were  snoring  in  the  same 
house,  the  father  and  the  son,  were  nothing  at  all  to  each  other!  No  tie, 
not  the  slightest,  connected  them,  and  they  did  not  know  it!  They  spoke 
to  each  other  tenderly,  they  embraced,  rejoiced,  Avere  affected  together 
over  the  same  things,  as  though  the  same  blood  had  flowed  in  their 
veins.  And  two  persons  born  at  the  two  extremities  of  the  world  could 
not  be  til-eater  strangers  to  each  other  than  this  father  and  this  son. 
They  thought  they  loved  each  other  because  a  lie  had  grown  ii|)  between 
them.  It  was  a  lie  which  created  this  paternal  love  and  this  filial  love, 
a  lie  which  it  was  impossible  to  expose,  and  which  nobody  would  ever 
know    except   him,    the    true    sun. 

.\nd    yet and    yet suppose    he    were    deceiving    himself  .'       How 

could  he  make  sure  ?  Ah,  if  some  resemblance,  however  slight,  existed 
between  his  father  and  Jean,  one  of  those  mysterious  resemblances  which 
pass  down  from  grandfather  to  great-grandchildren,  showing  that  the  whole 
man  descends  directly  from  a  single  stock.  So  little  would  have  been 
necessary    for    him,    a    physician,    lo    recognize    that — the    form    of    the   jaw, 


84  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

the  curve  of  the  nose,  the  distance  of  the  eyes,  the  character  of  the 
teeth  or  hair;  less  still,  even  a  trick,  a  habit,  a  mannerism,  a  transniittcil 
taste,   any    sign    which   would    have    been    characteristic    to  a    practised    eye. 

He  searched  his  memory,  and  could  remembci-  nothing — no,  nothing. 
But  he  had  scarcely  looked,  perhaps,  having  no  motive  for  observing 
these   faint   indications. 

He  got  up  to  return  to  his  room,  and  began  to  ascend  the  stairs, 
slowly,  and  thinking  still.  He  passed  his  brother's  door,  and  stopped 
short,  stretching  out  his  hand  to  open  it.  An  urgent  desire  came  upon 
him  to  see  Jean  at  once,  to  take  a  long  look  at  him,  to  surprise  him  in 
his  sleep,  whilst  the  quiet  face  and  relaxed  features  were  at  rest,  and 
every  living  gesture  had  disappeared.  So  might  he  grasp  the  slumbering 
secret  of  his  physiognomy;  and  if  any  appreciable  resemblance  existed,  it 
could    not   escape   him. 

But  if  Jean  should  wake,  what  would  he  say?  How  could  he  explain 
that   visit  ? 

He  remained  standing,  his  fingers  closed  on  the  lock,  and  casting 
about  for  a  reason,  a  pretext.  He  suddenly  remembered  ihaL  he  had 
lent  his  brother,  a  week  ago,  a  phial  of  laudanum  to  ease  a  toothache. 
He  might  have  a  toothache  himself  to-night,  and  come  to  get  his  medicine 
back.       So    he    entered,    but    stealthily,    like    a    thief. 

Jean,  with  his  mouth  half  open,  was  sleeping  the  deep  sleep  of  an 
animal.  His  beard  ami  liglil  hair  made  a  patch  of  gold  on  the  white 
linen.     He  did  not  wake,   but  he  ceased   to  snore. 

Pierre,  stooping  over  him,  looked  at  him  with  a  greedy  eye.  No, 
that  young  man  had  no  resemblance  to  Boland  ;  and  for  the  second  time 
there  arose  in  his  mind  the  recollection  of  the  little  vanished  portrait  of 
Maréchal.      He  must  find  it,   and   when   he   saw  it  he   would  doubt  no  longer. 

His  brother  moved,  doubtless  troubled  by  his  presence,  or  by  the  light 
ot  the  candle  shining  thnuigh  his  eyelids  !  Then  the  doctor  retired,  on 
tiptoe,  to  the  door,  which  he  closed  without  a  noise  ;  and  so  he  returned 
to    his   room,    but   not   to   bed. 

The   day    was    slow    in    coming.       The    hours    struck,    one    after   another. 


.'^^Ô£>i(itfnfW/\'i(^.'4ft/r/0HV^/<(Y'' 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  85 

fiwdii  llic  (lining  room  clock,  whicli  had  a  dcoj)  and  serious  tone,  as  though 
lliis  little  machine  had  swallowed  a  cathedral  bell.  They  mountetl  the 
vacant  staircase,  passed  through  walls  and  doors,  died  away  among  the 
rooms,    in    llie   dull   ear  oi    the   sleepers. 

Pierre  had  begun  to  walk  to  and  fro ,  between  his  bed  and  the 
window.  What  was  he  to  do  ?  He  was  too  upset  to  pass  this  day 
with  his  family.  He  wanted  to  be  still  alone,  at  least  until  to-morrow, 
so  as  to  reflect,  to  grow  calm,  to  strengthen  himself  for  the  daily  life 
which   he    must   resume. 

Well  !  He  would  go  to  Trouville.  and  watch  the  bustle  of  the  crowd 
on  the  beach.  That  would  change  the  aspect  of  his  thoughts,  anil  give 
him    time    to    prepare    for    the    horrible    thing   which    he   had    discovered. 

When  dawn  appeared,  he  washed  and  dressed.  The  fog  was  dispersed, 
and  it  was  very  fine.  As  the  Trouville  steamer  did  not  leave  the  port 
till  nine  o'clock,  the  doctor  thought  that  he  ought  to  say  good  morning 
to    his    mother    before    he    left. 

He  waited  until  the  hour  when  she  usually  rose,  and  then  went  down. 
His  heart  beat  so  loudly  as  he  touched  her  door  that  he  waited  to  draw 
breath.  His  hand,  resting  on  the  lock,  was  weak  and  shaking,  almost 
incapable   of  the    slight   effort   required    to    turn    the    handle.      He   knocked. 

"Who    is    it?"    asked  his    mother's   voice. 

"  I,    Pierre." 

"  What   do   you    want  ?  " 

"  To  say  good  morning.  1  am  going  to  spend  the  day  at  Trouville 
with  some   friends.  " 

"  1    am    still    m     bed." 

"Well  then,   don  I  liniible.      !   will  kiss  you  when  I  come  back,  to-night.  " 

lie  hoped  lliat  he  might  go  wilhoul  seeing  her.  williDUl  pressing  on 
her   cheek    the    deceitful    kiss   which    revolted    his    heart    beforehand. 

But    she    answered   : 

"Wait    a    minute.    I    will    open    l<>    \nii.      Wait    until    I    am    in    beil   again." 

He  heard   her   naked   ieet  on   the   lloor,   and   then   the  sliding  of  the   bolt. 

"  Come    in  !  "    she  cried. 


86  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

He  went  in.  She  was  silting  up  in  bed,  whilst  Roland,  by  her  side, 
with  a  nightcap  on  his  head,  and  his  face  to  the  wall,  slept  on  soundly. 
Nothing  woke  him,  so  long  as  he  was  not  taken  by  the  arm  and  shaken.  On 
fishing  days  it  was  the  maid,  rung  up  at  the  appointed  hour  by  the  sailor 
Papagris,  who  came  up  and  dragged  her  master  Crom  this  invincible  repose. 

Pierre,  as  he  walked  towards  her,  looked  at  his  mother,  and  it  seemed 
to    him    all    at    once   as    though    he    had   never    seen    her. 

She  held  out  her  cheek  to  him,  and  he  kissed  her  twice;  then  he 
sat   down    on    a    low    chair. 

"Was    it   last    night   that   you    arranged   that   party?"    she    asked. 

"  Yes,    last   night.  " 

"You    are    coming    back    lor    dinner?" 

"1    am    not   sure,    yet.       At    any    rate,    don't   wait    tor    me." 

He  was  observing  her  with  a  stuj)ified  curiosity.  This  woman  was  his 
mother!  The  whole  lace,  which  he  had  seen  from  his  infancy,  from 
the  moment  when  his  eye  could  distinguish  one  thing  from  another,  that 
smile,  that  voice  which  he  knew  so  well,  which  was  so  familiar,  seemed 
all  on  a  sudden  new  and  different  from  what  they  had  hitherto  been  to 
him.  Me  understood  now  that,  loving  her,  he  had  never  studied  her. 
Yet  there  was  no  doubt  as  to  her  identity,  and  he  knew  each  of  the 
smallest  details  of  her  face,  but  he  saw  clearly  each  of  these  little  details 
for  the  first  time.  His  anxious  attention,  studying  that  dearly-loved  head, 
revealed  it  to  him  in  a  different  aspect,  with  a  physiognomy  which  he 
had    never    discovered. 

lie  rose  to  go  ;  then,  yielding  suddenly  to  the  unconquerable  thirst  for 
knowledge    which    had    gnawed    at    his    heart    since    the    previous    night  : 

"  By  the  way,  1  thought  1  remembered  that  there  was  once,  at  Paris, 
a    little   portrait   of  Maréchal    in   our   drawing-room.  " 

She  hesitated  for  a  second  or  two,  or  at  least  he  fancied  that  she 
hesitated.       Then    she   said  : 

"  Yes,    there    was.  " 

"And    what   has   become   of  llial    portrait?" 

Again    she    might   have    been    quicker   over   her    reply. 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  87 

'•  That    portrait let    mc    see I    am    not    quite    sure Perhaps 

I   have   it    in    my   desk.  " 

"  I    should    i)e    so   glad    if   you    could    find    it.  " 

"  Yes,    I    will    look    for    it.       ^^  hy    tl<>    Vf^u    want    it  ?  " 

'•  Oh.  it  is  mil  tor  myscH.  I  lliouglit  il  would  be  uatuial  to  give  it 
to   Jean,    and    thai    il   would    please    him." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  it  is  a  happy  idea.  I  will  go  and  look  for  it 
as    soon    as    I    am    drt'sstnl.  "' 

Then    he   went   away. 

It  was  a  day  of  blue,  without  a  breath  of  air.  The  people  in  the 
street  seemed  cheerful  :  the  merchants  were  going  about  their  business, 
the  clerks  to  their  desks,  the  girls  to  their  shops.  A  few  were  singing, 
enlivened  bv  the  brightness.  The  passengers  were  already  embarking  on 
the  Trouville   steamer.      Pierre    sat    in    the   stern,    on    a    wooden    bench. 

"Was  she  troubled,"  he  asked  himself,  '"by  my  question  about  the 
portrait,  or  only  surprised  ?  Did  she  lose  it  or  hide  it  ?  Does  she  know 
where    it    is,    or    docs    she    not  ^       If   she    hid    it,    why  ?  " 

And  his  mind,  always  on  the  same  track,  from  one  deduction  to 
another,    came    to    the    following   conclusion  : 

The  portrait,  which  was  the  jiortrait  of  a  friend  and  a  lover,  had 
remained  in  the  drawing-room  until  the  day  when  the  wife  and  mother 
had  perceived,  before  anybody  else,  that  it  was  like,  her  son.  Doubtless 
for  a  long  time  she  had  watched  for  this  resemblance;  then,  having 
discovered  it,  having  seen  it  appear,  and  uuderstandiuy  that  any  one  might 
see  it  likewise,  one  day  or  the  other,  she  had  one  evening  removed  the 
alarming   little    miniature,    ami    had    hidden    it,    not    daring    to    destroy    it. 

And  Pierre  remembered  clearly  now  that  this  miniature  had  long  disap- 
peared, long  before  iheir  departure  from  Paris  !  It  had  disappeared,  he 
thought,  when  .lean's  beard,  beginning  to  grow,  had  suddenly  rendered 
him    like   the    fair   young    man    who    smiled    from    the    pielure-frame. 

The  motion  of  the  vessel  disturbed  his  thought,  and  scattered  it.  'I'lien 
he    stood    u|).    and    looked    at    the    sea. 

The    lillle    steamer    emerged    from    the    jetties,    tiirnetl    lo    ihe    left,    and 


88  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

went  puffing  and  quivering  towards  the  distant  coast,  just  visible  in  the 
morning  haze.  Here  and  there  the  red  sail  of  a  fishing-smack,  motionless 
on   the  level    sea,   looked   like  a  great    rock    standing  out  of  the  water. 

In  less  than  an  hour  ihey  came  to  the  port  of  Trouville,  and  as  it 
was   Lathing   time,    Pierre    betook    himself  to    liie   beach. 

From  a  distance  the  beach  looked  like  a  long  garden  lull  of  brilliant 
flowers.  On  the  great  stretch  of  yellow  sand,  from  the  jetty  to  the  lilack 
Rocks,  sunshades  of  every  colour,  hats  of  every  shape,  dresses  of  every 
hue,  in  groups  before  the  machines,  in  lines  along  the  surf,  or  scattered 
up  and  down,  were  like  nothing  so  much  as  enormous  flower  beds  in  a 
vast  meadow.  And  the  confused  noise,  near  and  far,  of  voices  resounding 
in  the  air,  the  shouts,  the  cries  of  bathing  children,  the  shrill  laughter 
of  the  women,  created  a  constant  and  pleasant  hum,  mingled  with  the 
imperceptible   breeze,    so   that   one   drew   them    in    together. 

Pierre  walked  about  amidst  those  people,  more  divided  from  them, 
more  isolated,  more  deeply  plunged  in  his  tormenting  thoughts,  than  if  he 
had  been  cast  into  the  sea  from  the  deck  of  a  ship  a  hundred  leagues 
from  land.  He  brushed  against  them,  heard,  without  listening,  some  of 
their  talk  ;  and  without  looking  he  saw  the  men  speaking  to  the  women, 
and    the  women   smiling   at   the    men. 

But  suddenly,  as  though  he  had  awoke  from  sleep,  he  saw  them 
distinctly;  and  hatred  rose  up  in  his  mind  against  them,  because  they 
seemed   happy    and   content. 

Now  he  went  amongst  the  groups,  moving  round  them,  occupied  with 
new  thoughts.  All  these  many-coloured  dresses  which  covered  the  sand 
like  a  flower  garden,  these  pretty  garments,  these  bright  sunshades,  the 
artificial  grace  of  the  tight-laced  figures,  all  the  ingenious  tricks  of  fashion, 
from  the  tiny  shoes  to  the  extravagant  hat,  the  seductive  gestures,  voices, 
and  smiles — in  brief,  the  coquettish  airs  displayed  in  every  part  of  the 
beach,  looked  lo  him  suddenly  like  an  immense  efflorescence  of  feminine 
perversity.  All  these  dressed-up  women  were  seeking  to  please,  to  lead 
astray,  to  tenq)t  some  one.  They  had  made  themselves  beautiful  for  men, 
for    all    men   except  for  the  husband  whom   there  was  no  longer  any  need  to 


f*UM<  -•■;* 


f 


^ 


^' 


Til  H     TWO     BROTHERS  89 

conquer.  They  had  made  themselves  beautiful  for  the  lover  of  to-day  and 
the  lover  of  to-morrow,  for  some  unknown  man  whom  they  had  met, 
remarked,  or  perhaps  expected.  And  these  men,  seated  near  them,  eye  to 
eye,  mouth  speaking  close  to  mouth,  challenged  and  coveted  them,  hunted 
them  like  fleeting  game,  although  they  seemed  so  near  and  so  easy  to  catch. 
This  vast  beach,  then,  was  but  a  market  of  love,  where  some  women 
were  sold  and  others  gave  themselves  away,  some  traded  on  their  favours, 
and  others  merely  promised  themselves.  .Vll  these  women  thought  but  of 
one  and  the  same  thing,  to  present  and  create  a  desire  for  their  persons, 
which  had  ahcady  been  given,  sold,  or  promised  to  other  men.  And  he 
mused   that   throughout   the    whole   world    it   was    ever    the    same    thing. 

His  mother  had  done  like  the  rest — that  was  all!  Like  the  rest?  No! 
There  were  exceptions  ;  many,  to  be  sure  !  The  creatures  whom  he  saw 
around  him,  rich,  light-minded,  covetous  of  love,  belonged  in  fact  to  the 
elegant  and  worldly  class  of  intriguers,  or  even  to  the  class  which  had 
its  regular  tarifl,  for  on  the  beach,  trampled  bv  the  legion  of  idlers,  you 
did   not  meet  the  legion   of  virtuous  women  who   were  held    safe    at   home. 

The  sea  was  coming  in,  gradually  driving  towards  the  town  the  lirst 
line  of  bathers.  Groups  were  seen  briskly  rising  and  taking  to  ilight, 
carrying  their  seats  with  them,  before  the  advancing  yellow  surf  fringed 
with  a  little  lace  of  foam.  The  rumbling  machines,  yoked  to  a  horse, 
came  up  likewise,  and  on  the  [)lanks  of  the  promenade  which  borders 
the  beach  from  end  to  end,  there  was  a  continuous  stream,  dense  and 
slow,  of  elegant  [)eoplc,  forming  two  adverse  currents,  which  elbowed  and 
crowded  each  other.  Pierre,  nervous,  irritated  by  the  jostling,  lied  away, 
biiiied  himsc'ir  in  llic  town,  and  stopped  to  break  his  fast  at  a  modest 
wine-shop    ;it    the    entrance  to   the   meadows. 

When  lie  IuhI  taken  his  colfee  he  stretched  himself  on  two  chairs  in 
front  of  llu-  door,  and  as  he  had  scarcely  slept  the  night  before,  he  fell 
into   a   slumber   beneath    the   sliadow   of   a   lime. 

After  a  few  hours'  rest,  having  roused  himself,  he  saw  ihal  it  was  time 
to  go  back  and  catch  the  boat,  and  he  set  forth,  hanilicapped  by  a  sudden 
cramp.   wlii(  h   had   seized   him    in    his   sleep.      Now   he  wanted   to  get  home; 


90  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

he  Avanted  to  see  if  his  mother  had  found  the  portrait  of  Maréchal.  And 
would  she  be  the  first  to  speak,  or  would  he  have  to  ask  for  it  again  ? 
Certainly,  if  she  expected  to  be  questioned  again,  she  had  a  secret  reason 
lor    not    showing   the    picture. 

Bui  when  he  had  returned  to  his  room,  he  hesitated  to  go  down  to 
dine.  He  was  sufi'ering  too  much.  His  revolted  heart  had  not  yet  had 
time   to   regain   its   calm. 

But  he  made  up  his  mind,  and  appeared  in  the  dining-room  as  they 
were    sitting   down    to    tabic.       Cheerfulness    lighted    up    every    face. 

"Well!"  said  Roland,  "how  are  you  getting  on  with  your  purchases? 
I    don't   want   to   see   anything   till    the   place   is    complete.  " 

"Of  course  you  don't,"'  answered  Madame  Roland.  "Bui  we  must  take 
plenty  of  time  to  consider,  so  as  not  to  get  anything  out  of  keeping. 
The   furnishing  question   gives    us    a    good    deal    of   trouble.  " 

She  had  spent  the  day  in  going  with  Jean  to  upholsterers  and  furniture 
shops.  She  desired  to  have  rich  materials,  somewhat  showy,  to  catch 
the  eye.  Her  son,  on  the  other  hand,  wanted  something  sinqjle  and 
out  of  the  comiuon.  Accordingly  they  had  jjolh  rehearsed  their  arguments 
over  each  article  pul  before  them.  She  made  out  that  the  client,  the 
man  who  goes  to  law,  needs  to  be  impressed,  thai  he  ought  to  experience 
an    effect   of   luxury    when    he    enters    the    reception-room. 

Jean,  on  the  contrary,  wishing  to  attract  only  an  elegant  and  wealthy 
connection,  would  work  on  the  minds  of  refined  peo|)le  by  his  modest  and 
unquestionable  taste.  And  the  discussion,  which  had  lasted  all  day,  was 
resumed    over   the   soup. 

Roland    had    no    opinion.       He    kept    saying  : 

"  1  dont  want  to  hear  anything.  1  shall  go  and  look  when  it  is 
finished.  " 

Madame  Roland  appealed  to  the  judgment  of  her  elder  son  : 

"Come,    Pierre,    what   do   you    think?  " 

His  nerves  were  so  highly  strung  that  he  could  have  answered  with 
an    oath.       Nevertheless,    he    said    in    a    dry    and    irritated    tone   : 

"For   my    part,    I    aui   entirely   of  Jeans   opinion.      I    only   care   for   sim- 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  91 

plicilv.    which    is.    in    matters    of   laslc.    what    uprightness    is    in    the    matter 
of   character.  " 

llis    mother   repHed   : 

"  Remember  thai  \v(>  air  living  in  a  town  of  merchants,  where  good 
taste    is    not   picked    up    in    the    streets.  " 

Pierre    answered  : 

"What  then?  Is  that  a  reason  for  imitating  fools?  If  my  countrymen 
are  stupid  or  dishonest,  neeil  i  luliow  their  example?  A  woman  will  not 
go    wrong    simply    because    her    neighbours    have    their   lovers.  " 

Jean    burst   out    laujihiii"-. 

"  Vou  give  us  comparative  reasons  which  seem  to  be  taken  from  the 
maxims    of  a    moralist.  " 

Pierre  made  no  answer.  llis  mother  and  brother  began  to  talk  again 
of  sluir  and  cum  lies.  lie  lookctl  al  them  as  he  had  looked  at  iiis  mother 
ill  liic  morning,  before  he  set  out  for  'rrouville- — like  a  stranger  who  is 
making  his  observations  ;  and  in  lad  he  seemed  as  if  he  had  suddenly 
entered    an    uiduiown    family. 

His  father,  in  particular,  startled  both  his  sight  and  his  thoughts.  This 
fat  and  llabby  man,  self-satisfied  and  foolish,  was  his  father — his  !  No,  no, 
Jean    was    in    no    sense    like    him. 

llis  family!  i''iir  two  davs  past  an  unknown  anil  malevolent  IkuuI,  the 
hand  (>l  a  dead  man,  had  torn  and  broken,  one  by  one,  all  the  bonds 
which  held  these  four  people  together.  It  was  destroyed — it  was  shat- 
tered, lie  had  no  longer  a  mother,  for  he  could  no  longer  cherish  her, 
since  he  could  not  reverence  her  with  that  absolute,  tender,  and  |)ious 
respect  which  the  heart  of  a  son  demands  ;  no  longer  a  biolhcr.  since 
this  brother  was  a  stranger's  chihl.  lie  IkhI  but  a  father — this  coarse  man 
whom   he   diti   not   love,    however  he   tried. 

Ami   suddcnlv   he   asked   : 

"  Well,    mamma,    have  you    found    llial   [)orlrail  ?  " 

She   o|)cn((l    her   eyes   in   wonder. 

"  W  hat    portrait  ?" 

"  The    portrait   of   Maréchal. 


92  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

"  No I    mean    yes I    have    not    found    it,    but    I    tliiiik    I    know 

where    it   is.  " 

"What's    that?"    asked    Roland. 

"  It's  a  little  portrait  of  Maréchal,  "  said  Pierre,  "  which  used  to  be 
in    our    drawinsr-room    at    Paris.       I    thought    Jean    would    like    to    have    it.  " 

M.    Roland   cried   out  : 

"Yes,  yes!  I  remember  perfectly;  why,  I  saw  it  again  at  the  end 
of  last  week.  Your  mother  pulled  it  out  of  her  desk  when  she  was 
arranging  her  papers.  It  was  Thursday  or  Friday,  you  remember,  Louise? 
I  was  about  to  shave,  when  you  took  it  from  a  drawer,  and  laid  it  on 
a  chair  by  your  side,  with  a  heap  of  letters,  half  of  which  you  burned. 
Ha,  ha  !  It  Avas  odd  that  you  should  have  touched  this  portrait  barely 
two  or  three  days  before  Jean  came  into  his  fortune.  if  1  believed  in 
presentiments,    1    should    say    that   was   one  !  " 

Madame   Roland    replied,    calmly   : 

"  Yes,  yes  ;    I  know  where  it  is.      I   will  go  and   find   it  presently.  " 

So  she  had  lied  !  She  had  lied  this  morning  even,  when  she  answered 
her  son's  question  as  to  what  had  become  of  the  miniature  with  the  words  : 
"  !    am    not   quite   sure perhaps    I    have    it   in    my   desk.  " 

She  had  seen,  looked  at  it  a  few  days  before  ;  then  she  had  hidden 
it  again  in  the  jjrivate   drawer  with  letters — with    the   letters   of  that   man. 

Pierre  looked  at  his  mother,  who  had  told  a  lie  !  lie  looked  at  her 
with  the  sharp  auger  of  a  son  who  had  been  cheated,  disappointed  in 
his  most  sacred  affections,  and  wilh  the  jealousy  of  a  man  who  had  long 
been  blind,  but  at  last  discovers  a  shameful  treason.  If  he  had  been 
her  husband — he,  who  was  her  child — he  should  have  seized  her  by  the 
wrists,  or  the  shoulders,  or  the  hair,  cast  her  to  the  ground,  struck  her, 
hurt  her,  crushed  her  !  And  he  could  say  nothing,  do  nothing,  show 
nothing,  and  reveal  nothing.  He  was  her  son  ;  he  had  nothing  to  avenge, 
for   he   had    not   been    deceived. 

And  yd  he  had  been  deceived  in  his  love,  deceived  in  his  pious  respect. 
She  ought  to  have  been  irreproachable  to  him,  as  all  mothers  should  be 
t(j    their    sons.       If   the    rage    with    which    he    was    attacked    rose   almost    to 


THF.     TWO     BROTHERS  93 

hatred,  it  was  l)ecause  he  felt  that  she  had  offended  against  himself  more 
even    than    against    liis    iallicr. 

The  love  of  a  man  ami  woman  is  a  voluntary  eompact,  in  wliicli 
tiie  one  who  fails  is  guilty  only  of  perfidy  ;  hut  when  the  wife  has 
become  a  mother,  her  duty  has  increased,  for  nature  has  intrusted  her 
with    a    race.       If  she    fails    then,    she    is    a    coward,    worthless,    infamous! 

'•1  must  confess,"  old  Roland  suddenly  exclaimed,  stretching  out  his 
legs  under  the  tahle,  as  he  did  every  evening  when  he  sipped  his  glass 
of  curranl-wine,  "'  I  must  confess  that  it  is  not  sucli  a  had  tiling  to 
live  an  idle  life  when  you  have  an  independent  income.  1  hope  Jean 
will  give  good  dinners  now;  and  if  1  get  occasional  indigestion,  I  can't 
help  it.'  Then,  turning  to  his  wife,  he  said  :  "Go  and  lind  that  portrait, 
darling,    as    you    iiave    done    your    dinner.       I    slioukl   like    to    see    it   too.  " 

She    rose,    took    a    candle,    and   went   out. 

Then,  after  an  absence  which  seemed  long  to  Pierre,  though  it  was 
under  three  minutes,  Madame  Roland  returned  with  a  smile,  holding  by 
its    ring    an    antique   gold    frame. 

"There."    she   said.      ■  1    found    il   almost   immediately." 

The  doctor  had  been  the  lirst  to  extend  his  hand.  lie  took  the 
portrait,  and  e.xaniined  it  at  a  little  distance,  at  arm's  length.  Then, 
feeling  that  his  mother  was  looking  at  him,  he  slowly  raised  his  eyes  to 
his  brother,  in  order  to  make  a  comparison.  lie  was  nearly  saying, 
carried  away  by  his  vehemence  :  "Why,  that  resembles  Jean.  "  If  he  dare 
not  utter  those  terrible  words,  he  revealed  his  thoughts  by  the  manner 
in   which    he    compared    the    living   face   with    the    painted    one. 

There  were  certainly  features  in  common,  the  same  beard  and  the 
same  forehead,  but  lujthing  precise  enough  to  justify  one  in  saying  : 
"  This  is  the  father,  and  this  is  the  son.  "  It  was  more  a  family  resem- 
blance, a  link  between  two  faces  animated  by  the  same  bliK)d.  Now, 
what  was  more  decisive  for  Pierre  than  this  correspondence  of  features, 
was  that  his  mother  had  risen,  hail  turned  her  back,  and  made  a  point 
of  putting  away  the  sugar  and  wine  in  a  cupboard,  with  more  than  rea- 
sonable  slowness. 


94  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

She   had   understood    that   he   knew,    or   at   least   suspected  ! 

"  Pass    it   to   me,  "    said    Roland. 

Pierre  held  out  the  miniature,  and  his  father  drew  a  candle  near  to 
him,    that   he    might    take   a   good   look.       Then   he    murmured  : 

"Poor  chap!  To  think  that  he  was  like  that  when  we  first  knew  him! 
By  Jove  !  how  time  flies  !  He  was  a  fine  fellow,  all  the  same,  at  that 
date  ;    and   so   nice   in    his    manners,    was   he    not,    Louise  ?  " 

As   his   wife   did    not   answer,    he   went   on   : 

"  And  what  a  calm  temper  !  I  never  saw  him  in  a  bad  humour. 
There  !  it  is  all  over,  and  there's  nothing  left  of  him — except  what  he 
has  bequeathed  to  Jean.  In  truth  one  may  say  of  him  that  he  showed 
himself   a    good    friend,    and    faithful    to    the    end." 

Jean  now  stretched  out  his  arm  to  take  the  portrait.  He  looked  at 
it   for    a    few    moments,    and    then    said    regretfully    : 

•'  I  dont  recognize  him  one  bit.  1  can  only  remember  him  with 
white    hair.  ' 

And  he  returned  the  miniature  to  his  mother.  She  threw  at  it  a 
rapid  glance,  quickly  averted,  which  seemed  full  of  fear  ;  and  then  said 
in   her   usual   voice   : 

"That  belongs  to  you  now,  Jean,  my  dear,  since  you  are  his  heir. 
We   will    take    it    to   your   new    rooms.  " 

And  as  they  were  entering  the  drawing-room,  she  placed  the  miniature 
on   the   chimney-piece,    near   the   clock,    where    it   used    to   be   of  old. 

Roland  filled  his  pipe,  Pierre  and  Jean  lighted  cigarettes.  They  used 
to  smoke  as  a  rule,  Pierre  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  Jean  sitting 
deep  in  an  easy  chair,  with  his  legs  crossed.  The  father  always  sat 
astride    of   a    chair,    spitting    from    a    distance    into    the    fireplace. 

Madame  Roland,  on  a  low  seat,  by  a  little  table  with  a  lamp  on  it, 
would    do   her   embroidery,    knit,    or    mark    linen. 

This  evening  she  began  a  piece  of  fancy-work  intended  for  Jean's 
rooms.  It  was  a  complicated  piece,  which  in  the  first  instance  required 
her  whole  attention.  Nevertheless,  from  time  to  time  her  eye,  as  it 
reckoned    up    the    points,    would    look    up.    (piickly,    furtively,    to    the    little 


THK     TWO     BROTHERS  95 

portrait  i>l  tlic  dciid  iimii.  whicli  leaned  against  tlie  clock.  And  llie  doctor, 
crossing  the  room  in  lour  oi-  i'wv  strides,  with  his  hands  behind  his  hack, 
and    his    cigarette    between    his    lij)s,    met    his    mother's    h)ok    every    time. 

Anv  one  would  Iiave  said  tiial  they  were  watching  each  other,  that  war 
had  been  ileehired  between  them;  and  a  painful,  intolerable  distress 
assailed  the  heart  of  Pierre.  Tortured  and  yet  satisfied,  he  said  to  himself: 
"  How  she  must  sulTer,  now,  if  she  knows  that  I  have  got  at  the 
truth  !  "  And  every  time  he  returned  to  the  fireplace  he  paused  a  second 
or  two  to  look  at  the  fair  face  of  Maréchal,  to  make  it  clear  that  a  fixed 
idea  had  seized  upon  him.  .Viid  this  little  portrait,  smaller  than  an  open 
hand,  appeared  like  a  living,  malicious,  formidable  creature,  which  had 
suddenly   entered   the   house   and    family. 

All  at  once  there  w\as  a  ring  at  the  street  door.  Madame  Roland, 
usually  so  calm,  started  in  such  a  way  as  to  show  the  doctor  how  her 
nerves   were   disturbed.      Then    she   said   : 

"  That   must   be   Madame    Rosémilly.  " 

And   her   anxious    eyes    again    fell    upon    the    chimney-piece. 

Pierre  understood,  or  thought  that  he  understood,  her  terror  and  anguish. 
The  looks  of  women  are  acute,  their  mind  is  agile,  their  thoughts  are 
lull  1)1  suspicion.  When  she  who  was  coming  in  perceived  the  little 
unknown  miniature,  perhaps  at  first  sight  she  would  perceive  the  resem- 
blance of  this  face  to  that  of  .lean.  Then  she  would  know  and  compre- 
licnd  everything.  He  w^as  afraid,  suddenly  and  terribly  afraid,  that  the 
shame  would  be  detected  ;  and  turning  round,  as  the  door  was  opened, 
he  took  the  little  portrait,  and  slipped  it  under  the  clock,  without  his 
father    and    brother    observing    him. 

Again  encountering  the  eyes  of  his  mother,  they  seemed  to  him  to 
have  become   changed,   troubled,   and    wild. 

"Good  day,"  said  Madame  Rosémilly.  'I  have  come  to  drink  a  cup 
of  tea    with    you.  " 

Rut  whilst  they  gathered  round  lo  ask  how  she  was,  Pierre  disappeared 
llirougli    the   open    door. 

When    his   departure   was   noticed,    they    were   astonished. 


96 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS 


Jean,  being  displeased,  because  he  thought  the  young  widow  might  be 
hurt,   muttered  : 

"  What  a   bear   he   is  !  " 

Madame    Roland   explained  : 

''We  must  not  look  for  his  company;  he  is  not  well  to-day,  and  he  is 
tired  from  his  trip  to  Trouville.  " 

"What  of  that?"  said  Roland.  "It  is  no  excuse  for  his  going  off 
like   a   savage.  " 

Madame   Rosémilly   tried    to    smooth    things    over,    saying   : 

"No,  no;  he  went  off  in  the  English  fashion.  They  always  depart  like 
that  in   society,   when   they  go   away   early.  " 

"Oh!"  Jean  replied,  "in  society  that  may  be  so,  but  we  do  not 
treat  our  family  in  English  fashion.  My  brother  has  been  doing  that 
sort   of   thing   for    some    time   past.  " 


-'fc^nnaor  .É ,  X»-,<S^^.  i^- 


VI 


,  '  '.wwftiwr-  ^;!^frSv«fi^^t'-' 


CHAPTER    VI. 


Noth.no    particular    happened    tc    the    Roh.nds    for    a    ^veek    or    two.       The 
father  f.shed;  Jean  settled  down   in  his  apartments,   assisted   l>y   ins   mother; 
Pierre,    gloomy    to    excess,    only    n.adc  his    appearance   at   meals. 
His    father   asked    him    one    evening  : 

''Why    the   den.c    do    you    make    yourself   like    a    mute    at    a    funeral? 
To-day    is   not    the    lirst    time    1    luive    noticed    it." 

''The    burden    of   life   weighs   on    mc    terribly,"    replied    the    doctor. 
The   worthy    man    had    no    notion    what   he    meant. 

"Really  "   he    said.    wUh    a    disconsolate  air,   -it  is    too    stupid.      Since 
this   good'huU    of   tlu-    legacy    bch-11    us,    everybody     seems     unhappy-      We 
■ht   have   had   an   a,  cident,    or    gone    int..   mourning    for    sou.e   one! 
I    au.    mourning    for    some   one,"    said    Pierre. 
You.'     For    whom?" 


mig 


100  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

"  Oh,   some  one   you    never   knew.     Some  one  I    loved  too   well." 

Roland  thought  there  was  a  sweetheart  in  the  question,  some  light 
creature    to   whom    his   son    had    paid    attention.      He    asked    : 

"A   woman,    I    suppose?" 

"  Yes,   a  woman." 

"  Dead?" 

''  No — worse  than  that.     Lost.  " 

"Ah!" 

Though  astonished  by  this  unexpected  confidence,  which  was  made 
before  his  wife,  and  by  the  strange  tone  of  his  son,  the  old  man  did  not 
dwell  upon  it,  for  he  thouglit  that  these  affairs  had  nothing  to  ilo  with 
third    parties. 

Madame  Roland  looked  as  if  she  had  heard  nothing.  She  seemed  ill, 
and  was  very  pale.  Several  times  already  her  husband,  surprised  to  see 
her  sitting  as  though  she  had  fallen  down  on  her  chair,  and  to  hear 
her   pant   as    though    she   could    not    breathe,    had    said   to   her   : 

"  Really,  Louise,  you  don't  look  well.  You  must  be  tiring  yourself 
too  umch  by  settling  Jean  in  his  rooms.  Take  some  rest,  I  tell  you. 
The    rascal   is  not    in    a    hurry,    now    he    is   rich." 

She    only    shook    her   head,    without   replying. 

To-day    her    paleness   was    so    extreme    that    Roland    again    remarked    it   : 

"  Gome,  this  won't  do  at  all,  my  poor  old  girl.  You  nnist  be  looked 
after.  " 

Then    he    turned    to    his    son    : 

"  You  can  see  plainly  that  your  mother  is  ill.  Have  you  noticed  her, 
it    nothing   else?" 

"  No,"  Pierre  replied.  "  1  had  not  observed  that  anything  was  the 
matter    with    her.  " 

Then    Roland   was    angry   : 

"  Devil  take  it,  this  is  enough  to  make  a  man  swear!  What  is  the 
good  of  being  a  doctor  then,  if  you  can't  even  see  that  your  mother  is 
unwell?  Look  at  lur,  1  tell  you!  Look  at  her!  No,  on  my  soul,  you 
might   die,    and    this    doctor    fellow    would    never   suspect    it  !    " 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  101 

Madame    Roland    had     hegun     to   gasp.      She     was    so    ghastly    that    her 
husband   cried    : 

"  She    is   going   to    faint  ! 

"■No — no     it    is    nothing  -it    \\ill    go    off     it    is    nothing." 

Picric   had    approached    hei',    and    was    looking   at    her   fixedly. 

•■  I'cll   iiic  !      What   is    wrong   with    you?"    he    asked. 

She    said    again,    in    a    low    and     hurric<l    voice   : 

"Nothing — nothing!      I    assure  you — nothing!" 

Roland    had    gone    to    (inil     some    vinegar;    he    came    hack,     and    handed 
liie    hottle    to    his    son. 

"  There.      Now    you     must    relieve    her.      Have    you    tried    her   heart    at 
all?" 

.Vnd   as   Pierre  stooped   to   feel   her   pulse,   she  drew   hack   iiei-  hand   with 
such  a   sudden    action    thai    she   struck    against   a   seat  which   was    near  her. 

"Come!"    he   said,   coldly;    "let   me  attend   to   you,   as  you   are   ill." 

Then    she    sat    up,    and    held    out    her    arm.      Her    skin    was     very     hot, 
and    her    heart    beat    wildly    and    irregularly.      He    muttered   : 

"It    is    rather   serious,   to    be    sure.     You    must   have   soothing   draughts. 
I    wdl    wiile    you    a    prescription." 

-Vnd  as  he  wrote,  bent  over  his  paper,  a  light  sound  of  repressed  sighs, 
ol    suffocation,    of  short    impeded    breath,    made   him    suddenly    turn    round. 

She    was    crying,    with    lier    hanils    over    her    face. 

Roland,    in    despair,    asked    her   : 

•'Louise,    Louise!        What    is    the    matter?       Oh,    what    is    llu'    matter, 
dear?" 

She     made     no    answer,    ami    seemed    to    be    ilislracted    by    a    deep    and 
terrible  grief. 

lier    husband    tried    to     take    her     hanils    Iroui    her    face.      She    resisted, 
crying  : 

"  No,    no,    no!" 

He    turned    (u    ins    sf)n    : 

What    IS    the    matter   with     her.'      I    lia\c    never    seen     her    thus." 
"  It    is    nothing,"   said    Pierre,    "  only    a    little   nervous  crisis." 


102  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

And  it  soomeil  to  him  as  though  his  own  licnit  were  romfortoil  to  see 
her  in  this  torment — that  her  grief  Hghtenecl  his  resentment,  anil  diminished 
his  mother's  due  of  blame,  lie  looked  at  her  like  a  judge  satisfied  with 
his    task. 

Hut  all  at  once  she  rose,  and  rushed  to  the  door  with  such  a  sudden 
movement  that  they  could  neither  prevent  nor  keep  her  hack.  She  ran 
to   her   room,    and    shut   herself    in. 

Roland   and    the   doctor    remained    face   to   face. 

"  Can    you    make  anything   out   of  it?  "  said  the   former. 

"  Yes.  This  comes  of  a  little  nervous  trouble  which  often  comes  on 
at  mamma's  age.  It  is  probable  that  she  will  have  plenty  more  of  such 
fits." 

And  in  fact  she  had  more,  almost  every  day,  which  Pierre  seemed 
to  bring  on  by  a  word,  as  though  he  held  the  secret  of  her  strange 
and  hidden  unrest.  He  watched  the  intermitting  calm  of  her  face,  and, 
with  the  skill  of  a  torturer,  called  back  by  a  word  the  grief  which  had 
been    soothed    for   a    moment. 

And  he  suffered  on  his  own  part  as  much  as  she  did.  He  suffered 
terribly  from  the  fact  that  he  no  longer  loved  her,  that  he  no  longer 
respected  her,  that  he  was  actually  torturing  her.  When  he  had  thor- 
oughly renewed  the  bleeding  wound  laid  open  by  him  in  the  heart  of 
the  wife  and  mother,  when  he  felt  how  wretched  and  desperate  she  was, 
he  wandered  off  alone  into  the  town,  so  tormented  by  remorse,  so 
sore  with  |)ity,  so  disconsolate  at  having  beaten  her  down  by  filial  scorn, 
that  he  felt  inclined  to  leap  into  the  sea,  to  drown  himself,  and  make 
an    end    of   it. 

Oh,  how  gladly  he  would  have  pardoned  her  now!  But  he  could  not 
do  it,  for  he  was  unable  to  forget.  If  only  he  could  have  forborne  to 
give  her  pain  ;  but  that  was  equally  impossible  whilst  he  suffered  himself. 
He  went  in  to  meals,  full  of  tender  resolutions;  then,  as  he  beheld  her, 
as  soon  as  he  saw  her  eye,  once  so  direct  and  frank,  now  avoiding  him, 
lull  of  fear  and  bewildered,  his  blow  descended  in  spite  of  himself,  for 
he   could    not   hold    back   the  double-edged    phrase   that    sprang    to   his    lips. 


THE     TWO     BROTIIKRS  lO:! 

The  accursed  secret,  known  to  them  idone.  armed  iiini  against  her.  It 
was  a  poison  \vhi(  h  he  caiiicd  in  liis  veins,  and  winch  made  him  want 
to  bite  like  a  mad  do^-.  Nothing-  now  prevented  him  from  constantly 
tormenting  her,  ior  .lean  lived  ahnost  cnlirciv  al  his  new  a[)artments,  and 
came   home    onlv    to    dine   and    sleep    witli    his   family. 

Me  often  nolicc<l  the  bitterness  ami  vioh-nce  oi  liis  brother,  and  allrd)nted 
them  to  jealousx  .  lie  made  np  his  mind  to  sel  things  straight,  and  give 
him  a  lesson  one  day  or  (jther.  for  the  life  of  the  iamily  was  becoming 
wretched  through  these  continual  scenes.  Hut  as  he  I'wvd  apart  now,  he 
sufi'ered  less  from  these  brutalities,  and  his  love  of  a  ipiiet  Hie  tlisposed 
him  to  patience.  Fortune,  moreover,  had  spoiletl  him,  antl  his  thoughts 
dwelt  on  little  else  than  matters  which  specially  concerned  him.  He 
would  come  in  with  his  mind  full  ol  new  and  petty  cai'cs,  absorbed  by  the 
cut  of  his  coat,  the  shape  ol  a  ielt  hat.  the  proper  size  of  his  visiting  cards. 
And  he  spoke  persislcMitlv  oi  tlii'  details  oi  his  suite,  ol  the  boards  in  his 
bedroom  cupboard  to  keep  his  iin(Mi  pressed,  of  boxes  in  the  \('stibule,  ol 
electric   alarms    arrangi'd   to   prexcnl    any   secret   invasion    ot    his    apartments. 

He  luul  decided  that  on  the  day  when  he  linally  took  |)ossession  they 
would  have  a  countrv  party  at  Saint-.Ionin,  ami  couu'  back  ailei'  dinner 
to  lake  tea  at  his  rooms.  Uoland  wanted  to  go  by  sea,  l)ut  the  distance 
and  uncertainty  of  arrival  of  this  route,  il  the  wind  were  to  get  up, 
caused   his    plan    to    be    rejected,    and    a    break    was    hired    for    the    occasion. 

Thcv  set  oil  about  ten  o'clock,  so  as  to  be  in  time  for  the  midday 
meal.  In  the  carriage,  which  was  drawn  bv  two  fat  and  slow-lii>lling 
horses,  the  iannlv  oi  the  liohinds,  Madame  liosémilly.  and  Captain  lieausire 
rode  in  silence,  deiiiencd  b\  the  noise  oi  the  wheels,  antl  closed  their 
«■yes    in     :i    cloud    ol     dust. 

Il  was  hiirvest  lime.  ISeside  the  dark  green  clover  and  the  coarse  green 
ol  the  beetiools.  the  yellow  corn  brighleiu'd  up  llie  countr\'  with  a  blaze 
ol  gold  iind  Ihixen  lighl.  Here  and  ihere  the  ingathering  was  begun,  and 
in  the  iiclds  where  the  sickle  had  been  set  to  work,  nua:  were  seen 
swaying    as    lliey    swept     the    gidiind     with     llieir    long    winghke    blade. 

Alter    a   two     hours     ride,     the     break    lurned     to     the    Ielt.     passed    by    a 


104  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

■windmill  nt  work,  n  nielanclioly  clingy  wail,  liall"  decayed  and  destined 
to  destruction,  the  last  survival  oF  the  old  mills.  Then  it  entered  a  pretty 
court-yard,  and  stopped  before  an  attractive  house,  a  hotel  famous 
throughouL    the    district. 

The  landlady,  known  as  lli<>  lair  Alplumsine,  came  (nit  smiling  into 
the  porch,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  the  two  ladies,  who  were  hesitating 
over    the    rallu>r   high    steps. 

Under  a  lent,  on  the  edge  of  the  lawn  shadcil  hy  apple  trees,  some  visitoi's 
were  alrcadv  breakfasting.  Thev  were  Parisians  from  P^tretat  ;  and  inside  the 
house    could    be    heard    \oices,    lau"htt'r,    and    a    clatter    of  earthenware. 

They  had  to  eat  in  a  private  room,  all  the  dining-rooms  being  lull. 
Suddenlv    Roland    saw   some    shrimping-nets    on    the    wall. 

"Ah!    ah!    '    he   ci'ied,    "  do    they   catch    prawns    here?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Beausire.  "  In  fact,  this  is  where  they  catch  the  largest 
number    along   the    coast." 

"  Bv   Jove!      Let    us    go    after   breakfast!" 

Thev  found  that  the  tide  was  out  at  three  o'clock;  and  it  was  decided 
that  evervbodv  should  spenil  the  afternoon  amongst  the  locks,  looking- 
for  shrimps. 

They  ate  little,  for  fear  of  a  rush  of  IiKxhI  to  llic  head  when  their 
feet  were  in  the  watei-.  Besides,  they  wisheil  to  rescive  themselves  for 
dinner,  which  was  ordered  on  a  grand  scale,  and  which  was  to  be 
ready    when    they    returned    at    six. 

Roland  could  not  restrain  his  impatience.  He  wanled  to  purchase 
the  s])eci;il  nets  emploxcd  In  this  kind  of  fishing,  which  are  very  like 
those  used  to  catch  bnl  tciilics.  Thev  are  called  Icincts,  and  they  are 
little  pockets  of  thread,  bound  round  a  wooden  ring,  at  the  end  of  a 
long   stick. 

Alphonsine,  smiling  continually,  lent  him  them.  Then  she  assisted  the 
two  women  lo  make  a  hasty  toilette,  so  that  ihev  might  not  nudce  iheir 
dresses  wet.  She  brought  them  skirts,  large  woollen  stockings,  and  Spanish 
sandals.  The  men  took  off  their  shoes  and  stockings,  and  bought  from 
the    local    shoi'uiaker    some    slipjiers    and    sabots. 


TUR     TWO     BIIOTHKRS  105 

Tlifii  (liov  set  1)11,  nets  on  iheir  sIiouKUm-s  ;iihI  l);iskels  on  ihcir 
backs.      MikI.iiiic    Uosémillv    was    absolutely    cbarniing-. 

The  skirl  lenl  l)V  Alplinnsinc,  tiaintilv  canj^bl  ii|)  and  held  lo^i'lber 
bv  a  stitcli  HI"  Iwo,  so  tbat  she  eoiilil  run  atui  |nin|)  willioul  ilanj^er 
amoni^sl  the  rocks,  jusi  shewed  the  ankh'  aiul  the  he^iiiniui;'  ol  ihe  calf. 
The  lii^ure  was  free,  so  as  to  inak(^  uioNcnient  easy;  she  liad  hiund  a 
large  garden  hat  to  cover  her  head,  ol  veUow  stra\\',  willi  \ast  Haps,  to 
whieli  a  branch  of  tamarind,  holding  back  one  edge,  gave  the  swaggering 
look    ol    a    mousquetaire. 

Since  he  came  into  liis  lorlune,  Jean  had  been  asking  himself  whether 
he  should  marry  her  or  not.  I'^very  tinu>  he  saw  lier  again  he  decidetl 
to  make  her  his  wile;  iheii,  \\hen  he  was  alone,  he  ihoiight  lliat  wailing 
gave  time  for  i-e(lection.  She  was  less  wealthv  than  he  was  now,  for  she 
had  only  about  Iwidvc  ihousaud  Iram's  a  yeai' :  bul  it  was  in  landed 
property,  farms,  sites  in  llaxre,  on  liic  docks;  and  bv  and  bv  ibis  unglil 
be  worth  a  great  sum.  Their  foitunes  thus  were  almost  equal,  and  the 
young   widow    ccrtainlN    pleased    him    vastly- 

As  he  saw  her  walking  in  front  of  him  to-dav.  he  thought  :  ••  Xow, 
1    imisl    make    u|)    my    minil.      (lertainlv    I    shall    lind    nothing   better." 

They  were  going  along  a  lillle  sloping  \alley,  descending  from  the 
village  t(J  the  din";  and  the  ilifl  at  the  end  of  the  valley  overlooked  the 
sea  Irom  a  height  of  eighty  metres.  Within  the  framework  of  the  green 
sides  ol  tli(>  valley  running  down  to  the  rigiit  and  lei'l,  a  gi-eat  triangle 
oi  water,  silver-blue  benealh  the  sun,  was  manifest  at  a  distaiu'c,  and  a 
sail,  scarcely  visii)le,  looked  like  an  insect  ilown  below.  Tlu"  brilliant 
sky  mingled  with  the  waves  so  that  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish 
whci'c  one  ended  or  the  oliiei-  began;  and  the  two  wonu-n ,  walking  in 
Iront   ol    the    men,    exhibited    tlieir    sha|)ely    (igui-es    against    the    clear    hori/on. 

.lean,  whose  eves  luul  "athei-ed  brightness,  saw  the  neat  aidvic-,  the 
sicndrr  and  supple  lignre,  ami  the  tantalising  big  hat  of  .Madame  Hosé- 
unlly  Hitting  liefore  him;  and  the  llight  sllmulaled  his  desire,  and  drove 
iiiiu  til  (iiie  111  lliiise  lin.d  icsi  ijii  I  ions  which  the  timid  and  hesitating  are 
Wont    lo    lake    .ill    III     ,1    liiiiiA  ,      The    w.irm     air,     in     which     w.is     mimjled    the 


10(i  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

smell  of  the  hill-sides,  of  the  gorse,  of  the  clover  antl  grass,  and  of  the 
rocks  left  hare  by  the  tide,  encouraged  whilst  it  mildly  intoxicated  him, 
and  he  herame  more  and  more  decided  at  every  step,  every  instant,  at 
every  glance  di reeled  towards  llie  young  woman's  agile  figure.  He  resolved 
lo  hesitate  no  longer,  hut  to  lell  lier  that  he  loved  her,  antl  wanted  her 
for  his  wife.  The  fishing  would  help  him,  and  make  a  ipiiet  interview 
easy;  and  moreover  this  would  he  a  pretty  framework,  a  delightful  place 
to  talk  of  love — their  feet  in  a  jjool  of  limpid  water,  whilst  they  saw 
the    long    beards   of  the   prawns   disappear   under    the    sea-weed. 

When  they  came  to  the  end  of  the  valley,  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice, 
they  saw  a  narrow  path  descending  the  cliff,  and  beneath  them,  between 
the  sea  and  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  about  half-way  across,  a  wonderful 
chaos  of  enormous  rocks,  shattered,  overthrown,  heaped  one  above  another 
in  a  kind  of  overgrown  and  (piivering  plain,  which  disappeared  from 
sight  towards  the  south,  creatiHl  by  ancient  landslips.  On  this  long  belt 
of  brushwood  and  turf,  shaken  out,  one  would  suppose,  by  earthquakes, 
the  fallen  rocks  seemed  like  the  ruins  of  a  mighty  vanished  city,  once 
overlooking  the  ocean,  and  itself  overlooked  by  the  white  and  endless  Avail 
of   the    cliff. 

"There  now,  that  is  beautiful!"  said  Madame  Rosemilly,  coming  to 
a  halt. 

Jean  had  come  up  with  her,  and,  with  beating  heart,  offered  her  his 
hand    to   descend    the    narnnv   staircase   hewn    out    of  the    rock. 

They  went  on  in  advance,  whilst  Heausire  offered  his  arm  to  Madame 
Roland,    who    was    rendered    di/./y    by    the    abrupLiu-ss. 

Roland  ami  Pierre  came  last,  and  the  iloctor  had  lo  lead  his  father, 
who  was  so  li()id)led  l)y  giddiness  that  he  let  himself  slip  down  on  his 
haunches    from    step    to    step. 

The  young  people,  who  were  scampering  down  well  to  the  front, 
moved  rapidly;  and  all  at  once  they  perceived,  running  along  llie  loot 
of  a  wooded  slope,  wliich  made  a  resting-])lace  about  hall-way  down  the 
descent,  a  thread  of  (lear  water  springing  from  a  litllc  rent  in  the  cliil. 
It    lornuHl    at     first     a    pool,    antl     ihence.     failing    in    a    cascade    barely    two 


THF.     TWO     BROTHERS  107 

l'cct  high,  il  liiii  oil  across  the  path,  causing  a  heel  of  water-cress  to  shoot  iip, 
and    thsappearecl    in    the    hramhle    and    grass,    along    the   rock-strcwii   [)lain. 

■'()li,    liow     thirsty    I    am!"    ciicd    .Maihinie    Uoscniillv. 

I'liil  il  \\a>  not  easy  to  (h'ink.  She  tried  to  (ill  the  hoUo\y  ol  her 
hand  with  water,  hut  it  trickled  away  tlironuli  her  lingers.  An  idea  sLruck 
Jean.  He  placed  a  stone  on  the  ground,  and  she  knelt  on  it,  so  as  to 
bring    her    lips    to    the    same   ley(d    as   the    spring    and    drink    Ironi    it  direct. 

When  she  raised  her  head  covered  with  hriglit  little  dro[)s  whicli  had 
been  sprinkled  in  thousands  over  her  skin,  her  hair,  her  eyebrows,  and 
her   bodice,    Jean   leaned   over    her   and    niiirmured   : 

'■'■  How   lovely    you    are  ! 

"Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  hold  your  tongue?  ""  she  ie|)lied,  in 
such    a    voice    as   one    assumes    in    oixler    to    scold    a   child. 

These    were    the     lirst    words    which     ihev    exchanged    ol    a    gallant    sort. 

"Come  along,"  said  Jean,  in  some  concern,  "  before  they  over- 
take  us." 

Antl  indeed  he  could  see,  quil('  near  to  them  by  this  lime,  the  back 
of  Captain  Beausirc,  who  was  coming  down  backwards,  supjxuling  Madame 
Uoland  by  both  hands;  and  further  up,  Roland  was  still  sliiling  ilown  in 
a  sitting  posture,  drawing  hiinsell  along  on  his  fe(>t  and  elbows  at  a  snail's 
pace,    whilst    Pierre    |)rece(.le(l    hiui    and    superinlendeil    his    movements. 

The  path,  now  less  precipitous,  became  a  sort  of  steep  road  which 
woiuid  amongst  the  enormous  blocks  long  since  cast  down  from  the  hill- 
side. Madame  Uosemilly  and  Jean  set  oil  at  a  run  ,  and  were  soon 
amongst  the  shingle.  They  crossed  it  and  reached  the  rocks.  They 
stretched  over  a  long  and  level  surface  coveied  with  sea-weed  out  ol 
which  gleamed  innumerable  |)Ools  of  water.  The  ebbing  tide  was  far 
away  below  them,  beyonil  that  glutinous  plain  of  sea-weed,  glossy  green 
and   black. 

Jean  rolletl  uj)  his  trousers  above  his  calves,  and  his  sleeves  up  to 
llii'  elbows,  so  thai  he  might  not  trouble  himself  about  the  water.  Then 
he  cried  "Forward!  and  look  a  bold  plunge  into  the  lirsl  pond  ihey 
came    to. 


108  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

The  lady,  more  prudent,  though  likewise  bent  on  taking  the  water  by 
and  by,  went  round  the  narrow  basin  with  gingerly  steps,  for  she  slipped 
on  the  viscous    weed. 

"  Can    you    see    anything?"    she    cried. 

"Yes!      1    see    your    face    relleclcd     in    llie    water." 

'■  II'   lliat    is    ail    you   can   see,   you    will    not    do    much    lisliing." 

lie    nimiiuired    tenderly   : 

"  or  all  the  kinds  of  fisiiing  1  know,  this  is  the  one  1  like  most." 
She    laughed. 

"Try    it   then!      You    will    see    iiow    it    slips    through   your    net." 

"  Oil,    but    if  you " 

"  I    want    to    see    you  catch  shrim|)s  and  notliing  else just  now." 

"You    are  too    bad.      Come    on    furtlicr;    there    is    nolhiug    here." 

And  he  offered  her  his  hand  over  tlie  slippery  rocks.  She  rested  on 
him  rather  timidly,  and  he  felt  himself  suddenly  stormed  by  love,  assailed 
by  his  longings,  hungry  for  her,  as  though  the  sickness  which  had  been 
implanted    in   him    had    awaited    tiiis    day    to    come   to  a  head. 

Thev  presently  came  to  a  deeper  crevice,  where,  under  liie  quivering 
water  which  flowed  towards  the  distant  sea  by  some  invisil)Ie  fissure, 
floated  long,  slender  sea-piants,  strange  of  iuie,  like  piidi  and  green  threads 
of  hair,     wliich   seemed    to    be   swimming. 

Madame    iîosémilly    cried    out  : 

"  Stop,    stop!      I    see   one,    a    big,    a    verv    big    one,    yonder! 

lie  saw  it  in  his  turn,  and  went  Ixildiv  down  into  tiu-  liole,  thoui>h 
he    had     lo    plunge    up    to    liis   waist. 

Rut  the  creature  di'ew  l)ack  genliv  I)ef()re  the  net.  .lean  puslunl  her 
towards  the  sea-moss,  leeling  sure  that  lie  siiould  catcii  her  there.  \\  hen 
she  felt  herself  obstructed,  she  slipped  with  a  sudden  sjn'ing  above  the 
net,    sliot    across    tiie    pool,    and    disappeared. 

The  young  woman  who  was  looking  on  at  this  attcmpi  .  all  brcalldcss, 
could    not    hel|)    exclaiming   : 

"  Oh,    clumsy!  " 

He    was    vexed,     and    with     a    careless    movement    drew    his    net    througii 


I^lberr  i^iiiitl» 


TllK     TWO     BROTHERS  109 

the  wecdv  hottom.  \\'lipii  lie  raised  il  to  the  siirf'arc  ol'  the  water  he 
saw  witliiii  it  llirce  hit  Iranspaieiil  shrimps,  iielled  at  hazard  in  iheir 
in\  isd)le    liidiiig-place. 

lie  nresented  liieiii  tiiuin|iliaiill\  l<>  .Madame  iiosemdlw  whu  dai'e  not 
touch  iheiii.  being  afraid  ui  the  sharp  anil  jaggeil  horn  by  which  iheir 
«mall    Iiead    is   armed. 

I')UL  she  matle  up  her  minil,  ami,  catching  between  two  lingers  the 
thread-like  end  oi  iheir  beard,  she  put  them  one  alter  another  into  her 
basket,  with  a  bit  of  sea-moss  to  keep  them  alive.  Then,  liiuiing  a  pool 
of  water  not  cpiite  so  deep,  she  \\ent  in  timidly,  a  little  out  of  breath 
from  the  cold  which  attacked  her  feet,  and  ihen  began  (ishing  hersell. 
She  was  clever  and  dexterous,  having  a  supple  hand,  and  the  huntei's 
instinct  which  he  lacked.  Almost  at  every  stroke  of  the  net  she  brought 
up  creatures  which  Inul  been  deceived  and  taken  in  by  the  ingenious 
slowness    of   liei'    pursuit. 

Jean  was  liniling  nolhing  now,  l)uL  he  followed  hei-  slej)  by  step, 
brushed  against  her,  leaneil  over  hei'.  feigning  deep  despair  at  his 
awkwardness,    and    anxiety    to    learn. 

■'  Oh,    show    me   how   you    do    it!       he    said,    '"  show    me! 

Then,  as  iheii-  faces  were  reflected  near  together  in  the  clear  water, 
which  tlu'  black  plants  at  the  bottom  converted  into  a  limpid  glass, 
Jean  smileil  at  tlu'  face  which  looked  at  him  from  below,  and  at  limes, 
Irom  the  ends  of  his  lingers  thi'ew  it  a  kiss,  which  seemed  to  fall 
upon    it. 

■  Ah,    you    arc     troublesome,"    said    the    ladv.      "  !\lv    friend,    you    should 
never    do   two   things   at    once." 

'■  !    am    oid\     doing    one.       I     am     loxing    you." 

She    straightenetl    herself  up,    and     said    gravely  : 

"  W'^hat  has  come  u\ca-  vou  these  ten  miniiles  '  Have  you  lost  your 
head:"' 

■'  Xo.  I  ha\c  not  lost  my  Iu;ad.  I  lo\("  you.  and  at  last  I  lia\c  the 
courage    to    Icll    vou    so." 

They    wert"    standing    now    in    the    salt     lake    which     welled     them     abf)ve 


110  THE     TWO     IJUUTIIERS 

tlicir  ankles,  and  with  tlu'ii'  dripping-  liands  supported  on  tlicir  ncls  ihey 
looked   each   other   straight  in   the    eyes. 

She    replied    in    a   jesting    and    rather    disconcerted   tone   : 

"  How  foolish  it  is  to  talk  to  nie  about  that  at  this  moment.  Can 
you    not    wait    another    day,    and    not    spoil    my    fishing?" 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  nmrmured,  "  hut  I  could  not  be  silent  any  longer. 
1  have  loved  you  ever  so  long.  To-day  you  intoxicated  me  so  much 
that    I    lost   my    balance." 

Then  all  on  a  sudden  she  seemed  to  fall  in  with  him,  to  resign 
herself   to    speaking    of  business    and    renouncing  pleasure. 

"  Let  us  sit  down  on  this  rock."  she  said.  "  Wc  shall  be  able  to 
talk   fpiietly. 

They  clambered  on  the  rock  which  rose  above  the  level,  and  when 
they  had  sat  down  side  by  sitle,  llieir  feet  hanging  down,  and  in  the 
full    sunlight,   she   said    : 

''  My  dear  friend,  you  are  no  longer  a  child,  and  1  am  no  longer  a 
young  girl.  We  both  know  very  well  what  is  at  stake,  and  we  can 
weigh  all  the  consequences  of  our  actions.  If  you  are  resolved  to-day 
to  tell  me  that  you  love  me.  I  naturally  suppose  that  you  want  to 
marry    me." 

He  scarcely  expected  this  |)lain  statement  of  the  situation,  and  answered 
foolishly   : 

"  Of  course." 

"  And   have  you    spoken    to    your    father    and     mother?" 

''  No,    I    wished    to    know    if  you    wouki    have    me." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  which  was  still  wet,  and  as  he  eagerly  laid 
his  own    upon    it,   she  said   : 

"  For  my  part,  I  will  gladly.  I  believe  you  are  good  and  loyal.  But 
do    not   forget    that    I    wovdd    not   go    against    the    wishes    of  your   parents.  " 

"  Oh,  do  vou  thiidv  mv  mother  has  not  foreseen  anything,  and  that 
she  would  love  you  as  she  does  if  she  were  opposed  to  a  marriage 
between    us?" 

"  The    fact   is,    I    am    a    little    upset." 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS  111 

They  were  silent.  He  wondered,  however,  that  she  was  so  little  upset, 
so  common-sense.  He  expected  a  little  gallant  hy-play,  refusals  wliicii 
meant  yes,  a  dainty  comcdv  of  love  and  fishing,  amidst  the  plashing  of 
the  water.  And  it  was  all  over,  he  was  hound  and  married  off  in 
twenty  words.  They  had  no  more  to  say  to  each  other,  since  they  were 
of  the  same  mind,  and  they  were  now  hotli  a  liltle  embarrassed  hy  what 
had  passed  so  quickly  between  them,  perhaps  a  liltle  confused,  not  daring 
to   speak    or   to    fish,    and    not    knowing    what  to   do. 

The    voice   of   Roland    came    as    a    relief  : 

"  Here  are  the  young  people!  Here  they  are!  Come  and  see  Beausire. 
The    fellow   is  emptying   the   sea." 

In  I'act  the  captain  had  made  a  wonderful  catch.  Wet  to  llic  ribs, 
he  advanced  Iroin  lake  to  lake,  knowing  the  best  places  at  a  glance, 
and  searching  all  the  hollows  under  the  sea-weed  with  a  slow  and  steatly 
movement    of  his    net. 

And  the  line  ti'ansjjarenl  slirim|is,  of  a  light  gray  colour,  lluttered  iu 
the  hollow  of  his  hand  when  he  took  them  coolly  to  throw  into  his 
basket. 

Madame  Roscmilly,  surpi'ised  and  dcligliled,  did  not  leave  him  again, 
iniitaliiig  him  to  the  best  of  hei'  ability,  almost  forgetting  her  promise 
and  .lean,  who  moodily  followed  her,  to  abandon  herself  entirely  to  the 
childish    joy    of  catching  the    shrimps   under   the    floating    sea-weed. 

Roland    suildenly  (  ried  : 

"  Here    is    Madame    Roland   coming." 

She  had  remained  alone  with  Pierre  on  the  beach,  for  neither  of  them 
desired  to  amuse  themselves  by  running  amongst  the  rocks,  and  wading 
iu  the  pools;  and  yet  they  hesitated  to  renuiin  together.  She  feared  him; 
and  lice  son  feared  both  for  her  and  for  liimself  the  cruelly  which  he 
could    not    master.       So    thev    sat   close    together    on    the    shingle. 

.\ud  both  of  ihcm,  under  the  heat  of  the  sun  just  cooled  by  the  sea 
air,  before  the  broad  soft  hori/on  of  blue  water  streaked  with  silver, 
thought  the  same  thought  :  "  How  pleasant  it  would  have  been  here  once 
on   a    time." 

IS 


112  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

She  dare  not  speak  to  Pierre,  convinced  that  he  woiiUl  reply  witli 
something  hard;  and  he  dare  not  speak  to  his  mother,  knowing  also  that 
in    spite    of  himself    he    would    do    it   in    a    violent    lashion. 

With  the  end  of  his  cane  he  was  fidgetting  with  the  round  pebbles, 
turning  them  over,  and  striking  them.  She,  with  absent  eyes,  had  taken 
up  three  or  four  little  stones,  which  she  passed  from  one  hand  to  the 
other  with  slow  mechanical  action.  Then  her  undecided  gaze,  which  had 
been  wandering  in  front  of  her,  saw  amongst  the  sea-weed  her  son  Jean, 
fishing  with  Madame  Rosémilly.  Then  she  followed  them,  watched  their 
movements,  dimly  understanding  with  her  maternal  instinct  that  they 
were  not  talking  on  everyday  subjects.  She  saw  them  bending  side  by 
side  when  they  looked  at  each  other  in  the  water,  and  stand  face  to  face 
when  they  were  searching  each  other's  hearts,  then  climb  on  the  rock 
to   exchange   their    vows. 

Their  figures  stood  out  clearly,  alone  on  the  horizon,  and,  in  this 
wide   expanse  of   sky,    sea,   and    cliff,    looked   grand    and   symbolic. 

Pierre  also  was  looking  at  them,  and  a  dry  smile  suddenly  curled  his 
lips.      Without   turning   towards    him    Madame    Roland    said   : 

"What    is    the    matter?" 

He   sneered  again. 

"  I  am  learning  a  lesson.  1  am  teaching  myself  how  a  husbaiul 
prepares  himself  to   be  dujicd." 

She  had  a  rush  of  anger,  of  revolt,  shocked  at  the  expression,  and 
exasperated    because    she    thought    she   understood   him. 

"For   whom    do   you    say   that?" 

"  F'or   Jean,    of  course!      It    is    comical    to    see    them    so." 

She   murmured   in    a    low   tone,    trembling  with    emotion   : 

"Oh,  Pierre,  how  cruel  you  are!  That  woman  is  virtue  itself.  "\our 
brother  couUl    not   (ind    a    better." 

He    began    lo    laugh    aloud,    a    forced    and    broken    laugh. 

"Ha,   ha!      Ha.    ha!      Xirtuc    ilsclf!      .Ml   women  are  virtue  itself and 

all    men   are    cuckolds.      Ha,    ha,    ha!" 

\\'ithout   answering   she   got    up,    walked    (juickly   down    the    slope    of   the 


THE     TWO     I5U()  I  IllJiS  113 

shingle,  and  at  tlie  risk  of  slipping  and  falling  in  iho  hole  concealed  by 
the  sea-Aveed,  whereby  she  might  easily  have  broken  a  leg  or  an  arm, 
she  lelt  liiin  almost  at  a  run,  striding  over  the  pools  without  seeing  tlicm. 
straight   before    her,    towaids   her   other   son. 

Seeing    lier    approach,    .lean    cried    out   : 

"Well,    mamma,    have    you    made    up    your    mind    at    hist?" 

iS'ot  answering  his  question  she  grasjied  his  arm.  as  though  she  would 
have   said  :    "  Save    me!      Defend   me! 

He    saw    her    trouble,    and,     much    surpi'ised,    cried   : 

"How   pale  you    are!      \\'hat   is    the    matter?" 

She    stammerctl    out   : 

"  I    nearl\'    fell.      I     am    afraid,    on    these    rocks." 

Then  .lean  led  her,  supported  her,  told  her  about  iheir  fishing,  in 
orilei-  lo  arouse  her  iulcrest.  Hut  as  she  scarcely  list(MU'd  to  him,  and 
as  he  greatly  wauled  to  conlide  in  somebody,  be  ilrew  her  fuilher  away, 
and    said    in    a    low    \oice   : 

"  Guess   what   I    have    done  ?" 

"  But but I    cannot  say." 

"  Guess." 

''I —      I    can't." 

"  Well,  I  hav(>  told  Madame  Rosémilly  that  1  desire  to  mak(>  her  my  wife." 

Si  ill  she  did  not  reply.  Her  head  was  buzzing,  hei-  mind  was  in 
such    (lislicss    that   she    could    barely    comprehend   anything. 

"  Your  wife?  "    she  repeated. 

"Yes.      Did    I    do    well?     She    is    iovelv,    is    she    not?" 

"  Yes lovely You    lia\('   done    well." 

" 'I'iu  II    I    lia\e    your    approval?" 

"  Yes- you    have   my    aj)proval." 

"  How    oddly  you    say   that.      One   would    lliiniv   thai  that j'ou   are 

not  pleased." 

"Oh    yes —       1    am    pleased." 

"  (Jiiile   sure  ?" 

"  Oiiite    sure." 


li'l 


THE     TWO     BROTHERS 


And  to  convince  him  of  it,  she  clasped  him  in  her  arms,  and  kissed 
him    on    the    lips,    with    a    mother's    full    kiss. 

Then,  when  she  had  dried  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  she  saw  on  the 
beach  below  a  body  stretched  on  its  face  like  a  corpse.  It  was  her  other 
son,    Pierre,    who   was   plunged    in    a  despairing    reverie. 

Then  she  took  her  younger  one,  .lean,  further  away  still,  close  to 
the  waves,  anil  they  spoke  for  a  long  time  of  the  marriage  on  which 
he    had    set    his    heart. 

The  rising  sea  drove  them  back  towards  the  fishers,  whom  they  rejoined; 
and  so  everybody  went  back  to  the  hill-foot.  Pierre,  who  pretended  that 
he  li;id  been  asleep,  was  roused  ;  ami  dinnei-,  drowned  in  wine,  occupied 
them    fur    hours. 


vil 


CHAPTER    VII. 


As    they    came    home     in     the    hreak,    all     the    .nen     went    to    sleep    except 
Jean         Beausirc    and    Uuhuul    sank    clo^vn   every    live    minutes    nu    a    ne.gh- 
bouring  shoulder,  which    pushed    then.    dV   wUh    a  ,,erk.       Then    they    sat   up 
straight,    ceased    to  snore,   opened  their  eyes,    muttered  :- Lovely  ^veather, 
aud    >ank    down    ahn..st   immediately    on    the   other    side. 

When  they  entered  Havre  their  drowsiness  was  so  great  thai  liu-y 
iKKl  ,uurh  dMTi.nhv  in  shaking  it  olT.  and  Beausire  even  declined  to  g.. 
to  Jean's  rooms,  where  tea  awaited  the.n.  He  had  to  he  set  down  at  lus 
own  door.  The  young  advocate  was  going  to  sleep  in  his  new  apart 
„..-nts  lor  the  lirst  tinu- ;  and  he  t..ok  a  great,  almost  cluhhsh  joy  n. 
showing   his   betrothed   the   residence   which   she   was   s(,on    I.,    occupy. 

The  maid  had  gone,  Madau.e  Hoiand  havn.g  undertaken  to  bod  the 
water  and  attend  to  them.  She  dul  not  Ida-  to  leave  servants  waiting 
up,    lor    Icar    ol    lire. 


118  THE     TWO     lîIKiTIIKRS 

Xc)  one  hut  herself,  her  son,  and  llie  workmen  hiul  hitherlo  entered;  so 
tliat   the    surprise   was    complete    when    they    saw   how    well    things   looked. 

In  the  vestibule,  Jean  asked  them  to  wait.  He  wanted  to  light  the 
candles  and  lamps,  and  he  left  Madame  Rosémilly  with  his  father  and 
brother  in  tiie  darkness.  Then,  opening  the  great  folding-doors,  he  bade 
them  enter.  The  glazed  gallery,  lighted  up  by  a  lustre,  and  the  painted 
glass  half  concealed  by  pahns,  india-rubber  plants,  and  flowers,  looked  at 
first  like  a  stage  effect.  There  was  a  moment  of  wonder.  Roland,  mar- 
velling at  the  splendour,  exclaimed  :  "By  Jove!"  and  felt  inclined  to 
clap   his   hands,   as  though   he   were    present   at  a   transformation    scene. 

Then  they  went  into  the  first  drawing-room,  which  was  small,  hung 
with  old  gold  hangings,  like  the  upholstery  of  the  seats.  The  great 
drawing-room  for  consultations,  being  very  simple  and  of  a  pale  salmon 
colour,    looked    imposing. 

Jean  sat  down  in  the  easy  chair  before  his  desk  which  was  laden 
with   books,    and   in   a    grave    voice,    a    little    forced,   said: 

"Yes,  Madame,  the  legal  texts  are  distinct,  and  after  the  concurrence 
of  which  1  informed  you,  they  beget  in  me  the  absolute  certainty  that 
within  three  months  the  affair  of  which  we  have  been  speaking  will 
arrive   at    a    fortunate   termination." 

He  looked  at  Madame  Rosémillv,  who,  looking  at  his  mother,  broke 
into   a    smile ,    and    Madame    Roland    took    her    hand    and    pressed    it. 

Jean,    beaming    with    joy,    cut    a    schoolboy    caper,    and   cried   : 

"How  well  the  voice  travels.  This  drawing-room  would  be  capital  to 
plead    in. 

Then    he    began   to    declaim   : 

■If  humanity  alone,  if  that  sentiment  of  natural  kindliness  which  we 
experience  before  every  kind  of  suffering,  were  needed  to  supply  a  motive 
for  the  acquittal  which  we  ask  of  you,  we  should  make  an  appeal  to 
your  pity,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  to  your  paternal  or  sinijily  human  hearts; 
Init  we  have  the  law  on  our  side,  and  it  is  exclusively  a  (juestion  ol 
law    which   we    are    going  to    raise    before   you." 

Pierre    looked   at    this    residence    which    might   have    been   his    own,    and 


Tin;     TWO     B  ROT  UK  lis  119 

he  wiis  initiiUnl  In  liis  hrollicr's  extravagances,  voting  liini  dceiclcclly  loo 
Foolish,    and    wauling    in    wil. 

Madame    Itohuid    opened    a    door    on    ihc    right. 

'Here    is    the  bedroom."   she   said. 

The  hangings  were  in  Kouen  cretonne,  made  to  imitate  the  old 
.\unnandv    linen.        .\    l>ouis    (  )nin/.c    desijin.    a    shepherdess    in    a    mechillion 


fi 


en 


closed     hctween     the     united     beaks     of    two    doves,     ■jave    lo    the     walls. 


n 


the    ciirlairis.    the    bcil.    the    seats,     a    very    pretty,    dainty,    mul    rural    aspect. 

■'Oh,  this  is  charming.  "  said  .Madame  llosémiliy,  lurinng  a  little  serious 
as    she   entered    this    room. 

••  Do    vou    like    it  ?  '   said    Jean. 

•■Vastly." 

■■\ou    cant    thiidc    how    ghul    I    .1111     to    Ikmi-    you    sav    so." 

Thev  exchangeil  an  instantaneous  look,  with  much  lendiuness  and  trust 
implied    in    it. 

Xevertheless.  she  was  a  little  liouldcd  ami  c(Uilused  in  this  room,  wliith 
was  to  be  hei'  iniptial  chandier.  She  had  obseixed  as  she  came  that  the 
bed  was  vei\'  wide,  a  regidar  lamilv  bedstead,  which  had  iloubtless 
been  selected  b\'  .Ahidame  Uolaud,  because  she  had  foicseen  and  dcsirt'd  her 
son's  s|)eedv  mairiagc:  aiul  vtT  this  roicthoughl  of  the  mother  pleascil  her. 
ami     secuietl    t(j    show     her    that    siie     would     be     welcouied      m     the     lamily. 

Tlieu.  when  tlie\  li;i(l  returned  to  the  dra  w  iiig-iooui ,  .li'an  suddenlv 
oitened  the  door  on  ihc  lelt  .  and  showed  the  round  di  niiuj'  iixun .  lujhtctl 
bv  three  windows,  and  denuatcd  ill  .lapanese  la-.liioii.  .Mother  aiul  son 
hail  cmploNcd  ui  it  all  the  capricious  taste  o|  winch  llie\  were  capable. 
This  room,  with  its  bamboo  liiiiiil  11  re .  its  (linncsc  \ases.  gold-spangled 
silks,  tiansparciit  blinds  on  winch  llu"  glass  beads  looked  like  drops 
ol  water,  lans  nailed  to  the  walls  as  supports  lor  the  curtains;  with 
its  screens,  sabres,  masks,  storks  imitated  with  real  leathers,  witii  all 
its  pretlv  knick-knacks  ol'  porcelain,  wood.  paiK-r.  i\or\.  molhcr-ol-pcarl. 
and  bron/.c.  had  the  pretentious  anil  aileclcd  look  which  awkward  hands 
and  iiiilrmiied  eves  givi'  to  things  which  icipiire  the  utmost  lad,  taste, 
ami     artistic    education.        \  vl     it     was     the     room     which     was    most     admirt'd. 


120  JIIK     TWO     liROTHERS 

Pierre  alone  showed  some  reserve,  with  a  slightly  bitter  irony,  Ity  wiiicli 
his    brother    was    a    little   luirt. 

On  the  table  were  fruits  arranged  in  pyramids,  cakes  built  up  in 
monuments.  Nobody  was  hungry.  Then,  at  the  end  ol  an  hour,  Madame 
Kosémilly    took   her   leave. 

It  was  derided  that  .M.  Holand  sliouhl  see  her  home  and  go  oil  with 
her  at  onee,  whilst  Madame  Uolanil,  in  the  absence  ol  a  maid,  should 
cast  a  mother's  last  look  over  the  apartments,  that  her  son  might  not 
be    in    need    ol    anything. 

"Shall    I    come    back    lor   you?"    said    Holand. 

She    hesitated;    then    said  : 

'"No,    my    dear,    go   to    bed.       Pierre   will    take    me    home." 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  she  blew  out  the  candles,  locked  up 
the  cakes,  sugar,  and  licpieurs  in  a  sideboard  ol  which  she  gave  the 
key  to  Jean  ;  then  went  into  the  bedroom,  turned  down  the  coverings, 
saw   that  the   carafe   was   Idled    with    fresh   water,    and   the   window   secured. 

Pierre  and  Jean  had  remained  in  the  little  drawing-room,  the  latter 
still  chilled  by  the  criticism  which  had  been  passed  on  his  taste,  and 
the  other  more  and  more  exasperated  to  see  his  brother  in  this  residence, 
lioth    sat  and    smoked    in   silence.       l^ierre    suddenly  jumped   up. 

"By  Jove,"  he  said,  "the  widow  did  look  washed  out  to-night. 
Picnics    don't   suit    her.'" 

Jean  was  suddenly  attacked  by  one  of  those  quick  and  furious  rages 
to  which  good-iKilured  men  are  subject  when  their  heart  has  received  a 
wound. 

He  was  so  strongly  moved  that  his  breath  failed  him,   and  h(>  stammered  : 

"1  ask  you  henceforth  not  to  say  'the  widow"  when  you  speak  of 
Madame    Rosémilly.  " 

Pierre   turned    to    him   with   a   lofty    air. 

"You  seem  to  be  giving   me   orders.     Do  you  happen  to  be  going  mad.'" 

Jean    had    stood    u|),    too. 

■1  am  not  going  mad.  but  1  have  had  enough  of  your  way  of 
treatintr  me.' 


w 

K 


. ■'H-^ ;*».■(  fffr  ■(  ■-  '/rui  ''•*« ■!■' 


Till-:    iw'd    ni; (»  Til  i: Hs  121 

"Treating  you!"  sneered  llie  otlier.  •Have  you  become  a  pail  of 
Madame   lîosémilly  ?  " 

"  I    would    have    you   know    llial   Madame    IJosémilly    is    lo    he    uiy    wile.  " 

Pierre    lauglied    more    loudly. 

"Aha!  Capital!  Now  1  understand  ^\hy  1  am  no  longer  lo  «all  lui- 
•  (lie  widow."  l)Ut  you  have  taken  an  odd  way  ol  announcing  your 
marriage." 

"I    forbid    \(>ii    lo    jest — do    you    iindcM'Stand  ?       I     forbid    it." 

.lean  li;id  ;ippi();i(licd  his  brother,  ^\ith  licmuloiis  voice,  exasperated 
bv    ihe    ironv   which  assailed    the    woman    whom    he    loved    and    had    chosen. 

Bui  Pierre  became  equally  furious.  All  llic  impotent  wrath  which 
had  nalhcrcd  in  him,  ihc  rc^prcssed  ran<<)ui'.  ihe  rebellious  Icclings  which 
he  had  been  holding  in  restraint,  and  the  silent  tiespair,  leaped  lo  his 
head,    and     overwhelmed    him     like    a    stroke    of   a[)oplexy. 

"Dare  j'ou  i* —       Dare   you? And    I   order  you   to   hold  your   tongue. 

Do   you    understand:*      I    order    you." 

.lean,  taken  aback  by  this  violence,  was  silent  for  a  few  moments, 
seeking,  in  the  menial  disturbance  which  iury  creates  in  us,  for  the 
thing,    the   phrase,    ihe    wortl.    which   might    sting    his    brother    to    the    heart. 

He  replied,  studiously  cuibim;  himself  so  as  to  strike  hardei',  speidcing 
more    slowly    so    as    to    speak    with    more    point   : 

"I  have  long  Isiiowu  you  were  jealous  of  nu-,  ever  since  the  d;iy 
when  you  began  to  talk  of  '  the  widow,'  because  you  thought  that  would 
hurt    me. 

Pierre  gave  one  of  those  strident  ;ind  scornful  laughs  which  were 
usuid    wilh    him. 

"Aha!  Good  Cod!  .b-alous  of  you  !  What,  I  ;'^l  ?— And  of  what  ? 
< 'I    whal      III     iieaxcns    uame.'    -Of    voiir    lace    or    youi'    mind.'" 

iiul   .lean     lell    sure    that    he    had    touched    the    sore    point. 

"Yes,  you  are  jealous  of  lue,  and  you  June  been  jealous  from  my 
iiilancy.  and  you  became  furious  when  you  saw  ihal  I  his  iatly  prelerrcd 
me    and    would     \\a\c     nolhing     to    sav     lo    you." 

i'lerie.    euraged    b\     ihis    itlea,    stammered    out  ; 


122  THE     TWO     lilU)THF.nS 

"I? — I.'  .lenloMs  of  vou  .'  And  on  nrronnt  ol  that  silly  c-reature, 
that   (h)lt,    that   I'al    goose?" 

•lean    stM'ini;-    tliat     his    l)h>\\s    went     home,    conliruii'd  : 

"And  how  al)oiil  tlial  dav  ^^h(■n  \()n  tried  to  vow  haich'r  than  I 
couUI,  in  the  t\-rlc .'  And  all  vou  said  beloi'c  her,  to  get  hei'  good 
opinion  !  Why,  yon  are  l)nrsting  with  jealousy.  And  llicn  ^\  hen  I  got 
this  legacy,  you  were  enraged,  and  haled  me,  and  yon  ha\('  shown  it 
in  eyery  way,  and  have  made  every  one  suffer  for  it;  ami  you  ean'l  let 
an    hour    pass    without    spitting    out    the     hile    that    chokes    you.  " 

Pierre  clenched  his  lists  with  fury,  almost  irresistibly  im])elled  to  leap 
on    his   brother   and    take    him    by    the    throat. 

"Oil,    be    quiet!"    he    said,    "and    don't   talk    to   me    of    llial    fortune." 

"Jealousy  oozes  out  of  your  skin."  cried  Jean.  "You  never  say  a 
word  to  my  father,  my  mother,  or  myself,  ^vilhout  its  Ijreaking  oui.  It 
is  because  you  arc  jealous  that  you  pretend  to  despise  me.  ^'ou  |)i(k 
a  qiiarrtd  with  evei'ybodv  because  you  are  jealous.  And  now  that  I  am 
lich,  you  cannot  restrain  yourself;  you  have  l)ecomc  \eiiom(jus,  and  you 
torlure    our    nu)ther   as    if   it    were   her    fault!" 

Pierre  hail  fallen  back  to  the  chimncv-picce.  his  moiilh  halt  open, 
his  me  dilated,  a  prey  to  one  of  those  mad  rages  which  make  men 
commit    crimes.        lie   rejx'aled    in    a    low,    ])anting    voice  : 

"Be    (piiet,    be    ([uict.     I    tell     you!" 

•  I  \\(>n  t.  I  have  been  wanting  loi'  a  long  lime  lo  tell  vou  all  I 
thought;  \()U  iia\e  gi\'en  me  \\\c  oppoilunil v,  and  so  uuich  llie  worse  loi' 
you,  I  love  a  woman,  and  as  soon  as  you  see  it.  you  begin  to  rail 
at  her  before^  me,  \'ou  dri\c  me  to  e.vlremilies  ;  so  nnnli  the  worse  lor 
you.       Uul    1    will    break   your  ser|)ent"s   teeth.    I    will    mal^c   \ou    respect    me. 

"  Uespect   you  .'  " 

"  Yes,    me  !  " 

"Respect    you!       You,    who    have   dishonoured    us    all    by    youi'    grccnl  !   ' 

"What    do    you    say?       Uepeat    that r(>peal    it!" 

"  I  say  that  people  don'l  accept  a  palrimorn'  from  one  man  when 
they    are    passing    as    sons    of   another." 


Illi:      TWO     lilîOTIIF.HS  123 

Jean  was  motionless,  iiol  uiulerstanrling-.  lie  was  |)ai;il\  scd  l)v  llic 
insinuation     ol'    wliicli    lie    onlv    half    j^athci'cd     llic     mcaiiino-. 

■■^^'llat    do    vou    mean    to    say? l^cpcal    it    again." 

■'  I  say  that  ovoryliody  is  whisjiering  and  S|)roading"  it  aboiii  tliat  yon 
aro  th(>  son  ol  the  iiiaii  who  lias  Icll  \oii  his  lortiiiic.  We'll,  a  lellow 
with    anv    spiill     would     rml     accept    money     which     dishoiioiiis    hi>     mollier." 

'■  Pierre  l*ierre — Piene  !  Can  vou  suppose  il  '  It  is  you — vou!  who 
say    tliis    iniamous    thing?" 

"Yes,    it    is    1 it   is    I.      Could    you    not    see   that    I    have   heen   dviii"- 

n\  grief  on  this  accounl.  for  a  month  and  more — that  I  pass  mv  nights 
without  sleeping  and  m\  days  in  hiding,  like  a  wild  heast — that  I  tio 
lonyer  know  what  I  am  saving  or  doin<i',  nor  what  is  to  hecome  of  me, 
I  am  in  such  pain,  so  mad  with  shame  and  giiel  .'  I^^or  I  guessed  il  al 
lirst,     and     now     I     am    suic    of    il. 

■"Pierre,  he  cpiiel  I  Our  mother  is  in  llie  next  I'oom  !  Think,  she 
mav    iiear    us she;   does    hear    us.'' 

But    he    was    hound    to    (n>liur(leu    himsell.        lie    went    ihrouijh    e\(M\  ihinu'. 


his   suspicions,     his    arguments,    his    sli'uggles,    his    cerlainlv.    not     foigelt 


■  ti"""^  "   1         on 


niij' 


the    storv  ol     ihe     porlrail.     which     IuhI    again    disappeared. 

Il(^  spoke  in  >horl.  hroken.  incoherent  phrases,  hke  (lie  lalk  of  a 
madman.  He  seemed  now  to  have  loi'gotten  Jean,  and  his  mother  in  (he 
next  room.  He  spoke  as  though  nohodv  were  listening  to  iiiin.  hecause  he 
had  to  speak,  because  Im  had  sullercd  loo  much,  and  had  loo  long  hoinid  up 
and    concealccl    his    wound  II     had    orown     like    a     tumour,     and     the     tumour 

had  i)urs|.  He  hegan  to  walk  up  and  down,  as  was  Ins  wonli  and  Willi 
his  eyes  staring  straight  before  him,  gesticulating,  in  a  freiizx'  ol  desj)air, 
his  throat  choked  willi  sobs,  with  i-ecurrences  of  his  own  sell-hatred,  he 
spoke  as  il  he  wanted  to  confess  his  misery  and  llie  niiserv  of  his 
relatives,  and  as  il  he  would  have  cast  his  pain  into  tlu'  invisible  ileal 
air    to    which     his     woids     were    borne. 

.lean,  who  was  o\  (M'whelmed,  ami  almosi  coiuinced  out  ol  hand  by  llie 
blind  eneriJA  ol  his  brolhei,  had  set  his  back  a^ainsl  the  door  beliind 
whi(h     he    thought     that    their     mother    must    have    heai'd     lliem. 


124  THF.     TWO     lîRoTHRRS 

She  could  not  «jo  out;  she  would  have  to  couie  through  tlu-  (h-a\viii<>- 
room.       Slic    liati    not    returned.       It    must    have   been    because   she   daic    not. 

Pierre    all     at    once,     stamping    on     the    lloor    with    his    loot,    erietl    out    : 

^'Oh,    I    am    a    brute    to    say   this  !  " 

And    iu'   rushed,    bareheaded,    down    the    stairs. 

The  noise  ol  the  outer  door,  which  chised  with  a  bang,  aroused  .lean 
from  llir  ileep  torpor  into  which  he  had  fallen.  A  few  seconds  had 
passed,  longer  than  hours,  and  liis  soul  liad  been  engulfed  in  idiolic 
stupefaction.  He  felt  that  he  must  think  and  act  immediately,  but  he 
waited,  not  even  wishing  any  longer  to  understand,  to  know,  to  recollect, 
out  of  fear,  and  weakness,  and  cowardice.  lie  was  of  the  race  of  llie 
temporizers,  who  are  always  j)utting  off  till  to-morrow;  and  when  he  hail 
to  take  an  instant  resolution,  he  still  instinctively  Irieil  to  gain  a  few 
moments.  Hut  the  ]:)rofound  silence  which  surrounded  him  now,  after 
the  vociferations  of  Pierre,  the  sudden  silence  of  walls  ami  (urniliirc. 
\\ilh  this  bright  light  of  the  six  candles  and  two  lamps,  terrilied  him  so 
much    that    he   was   disjioscd    to    run    away   also. 

Then    he    roused    his   thoughts   and     his    heart,    and    tried    (o    think. 

Throughout  his  life  he  had  never  encountered  a  diKiculty.  There  are 
men  who  let  thinos  o>o  like  runnincr  water.  Ib>  had  learned  at  school 
sedulously,  in  order  to  escape  punishment,  and  had  gone  through  his  law 
classes  with  regularity,  because  his  existence  was  a  calm  one.  Everj'- 
tliiny  in  the  world  seemed  natural  to  him,  without  otherwise  arousing 
his  notice.  lie  hked  ordei',  proprietv,  repose,  by  virtue  of  his  lemperamenl, 
having  no  duplicity  in  his  mind  ;  and  in  face  of  this  catastrophe  he  was 
like     a     man     who     falls     inio    the    walci-    without    having    leai'ned     to    swim. 

.\l  llrst  he  hied  to  doulit.  His  brother  must  have  lied,  through 
hatred  antl  jealousy.  And  yel  how  could  he  have  been  such  a  ^^rel(•h 
as  to  say  such  a  thing  of  their  mollier,  unless  he  had  liims(>lf  been  drixcn 
mad  by  despair.'  .\nd  .lean  retained  in  his  ears,  in  his  eves,  in  his 
nerves,  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  certain  words  and  cries  of  sufiering, 
certain  tones  and  gestures  of  Pierre,  so  full  of  pain  that  they  were 
irresistible — as    irrefragable    as    certainty. 


THE     TWO     UKOTIIHRS  125 

IK'  was  loo  cniNlict!  to  move  or  exercise  his  will.  jjis  distress  was 
l)CComing-  intolerable;  and  lu;  Icll  lliat  his  mother  was  there  behind  llie 
door,    havin<j'    heard    cvervlhin<>-,    and    thai   she   was   waitiiiii'   loi-    him. 

What  was  she  doing?  No  stir,  no  ni>lle,  no  breath,  no  sigh  revealed 
llie  presence  of  a   living  creatnre    behind    thai   screen    of  wood.       Could- she 

have  gone   away?       l>nl    how?       If  she   Inul   gone she  nuisl  have  thrown 

herself  from    the    window    into    ihe   street! 

lie  was  assailed  bv  a  fil  of  terror,  so  (|niek  and  overmastering  ihal 
he    burst     In    rallier    than    opened     llic    door,    am!     (hiNlied     nilo    his    bedroom. 

It   seenu'd    lo    be    emplv.       .V    single    candle    lighted    it. 

.K-an  leaped  to  the  window.  Il  was  closed,  ami  ihe  shullcrs  were 
fast.  lie  reliirncd.  -wepl  all  ihe  corners  with  an.xions  eyes,  and  ihen 
iioliccd  lli;il  the  curtains  of  the  bed  had  l)een  drawn.  He  ran  and 
opened  them.  Ills  mother  was  stretched  upon  his  bed,  with  her  lace 
buried  In  the  pillow,  which  she  had  folded  with  lici-  liamis  oxer  her 
head,  so  that  she  might  hear  no  more.  At  (Irsl  he  llioughl  she  was 
smothered.  'I'lien,  having  grasped  her  by  the  slioukU-rs,  lu'  tuincd  her 
round.  She  did  not  loosen  her  hold  of  llie  pillow  which  concealetl 
her  face,   and    which    she    IkkI    seized    with    her    teeth    lo    pievenl    her   crying. 

Hut  as  he  touched  the  sliliened  form,  the  rigid  arms,  he  received  the 
shock  of  her  indescribable  anguish.  The  energy  and  force  with  which 
she  held  ihe  pillow  willi  lingers  and  lecîlh  over  her  moiilh  and  eyes  and 
ears,  so  thai  he  might  not  see  or  speak  to  her,  made  him  divine  by 
his  own  sensation  how  profoundly  it  is  possible  to  sulfer.  Anil  his  hearl, 
his  simple  heart,  was  dlslracUul  with  pily-  He  was  not  a  judge,  not 
even  a  pilying  judge  ;  he  Mas  a  man  lull  of  weakness,  and  a  son  lull 
of  tenderness.  He  remembeicd  nothing  of  what  his  brother  had  said  to 
him:  he  neither  reasoned  nor  discussed;  he  simply  touched  with  his  hands 
the  motionless  bod\  of  In--  mollier.  and  as  he  coidil  not  lake  the  pillow 
from    her    lace,     he    kissed     her    dress.     ;ind    cried    : 

".Mothei!        .Mother!        .My    poor    mother,    look    at    me!" 

She  would  have  seemed  dead,  if  all  her  limbs  had  nol  been  Iranslixed 
with    ;ui    almost     insensible    tr<Mnor.     like    the    xibralion    ol    a    slrelched    coril. 


126  THE     TWO     BRdTllHRS 

'•MotluM'.  molluT."  lie  repealed,  -listen  to  me.  'I'liat  is  imt  line. 
1    am    sure    that    it    is     ikjI    true." 

There  was  a  spasm,  a  sufïbcatiu^-  sound,  and  iheii  all  at  once  she 
sobbed  beneath  her  pillow.  Immediately  all  her  nerves  were  relaxed, 
her  rigid  nuiscles  grew  soft,  her  fingers  extending  lei  the  pillow  drop, 
and    she    suffered    him   to    see    her    faee. 

She  was  perfeetly  pale,  perfectly  white,  and  Irom  her  closed  eyelids 
there  fell  tear  aftcM-  leai-.  Clasping  her  round  the  neck,  he  kisseil  her 
eyes,    slowly,    with    long,    desolate    kisses;    anil    he    kept    on    saying: 

^'Mother,  dear  mother,  I  am  sure  it  is  not  true.  Do  not  cry;  I 
know    it — It   is    not    true  !  '" 

She  raised  herself,  and  sat  looking  at  him  with  one  ol  those  ellorts 
of  heroism  which  we  need  now  and  then,  to  meet  death  with  ;  and  she 
saitl    : 

"  No.    my   chihl  I       It    is   true  !  " 

And  they  remained  facing  each  dllicr.  without  a  word  For  a  lew 
seconds  again  she  ihoked,  straining  her  throat  as  he  turned  aside  to 
breathe;    then    she    conquered    herself  again,    and    continued  : 

"It  is  true,  my  child.  \Miy  should  I  lell  a  lie.'  It  is  true.  You 
would    not    believe    uie    if    I    lied." 

She  looked  like  a  mad  woman.  Seized  with  terror,  he  lell  on  his 
kiie("s    beside    the    bed.     mm-unning  : 

■'  Ue    silent,     niannua  ;    be    silent!" 

She    rose   with    terrible    resolution    and    energy. 

"  Uu!    I     lia\i'    no     more    to    sav    to    \()u.    niv    child.        Fai'ewell  !  " 

She  walked  to  the  door.  lie  si'ized  her  in  his  arniN,  civing  :  •"What 
^\l)ldd     \<)u    do,    mamma.'       Where    are    \(>u    sjoniii' .' 

■1  do  not  know.  How  should  I  know.'  There  is  nothing  I  can 
do lor    I     am    all .     all    aloiu' 

She  fought  to  escape  hiui.  Holding  her  back,  he  could  sav  nothing 
but   the    one    woi'd  : 

"  Mamma      mamma — mamma  !  " 

And    as    she   struimled    to    break    from    him,    she   said  : 


j;- -'•'^ 


HllîCl^      ^^-^initli 


THF.     TWO     lîllOTIIKRS  127 

•'No.  IK),  I  am  not  your  niotlicr  now.  I  am  nolliiiii;-  any  longer  to 
voii.  to  anvliodv — nothing — nothint;'  any  more  !  \*>u  liavc  no  longer  a 
IVitlit'r    or    a     motlicr.     mv    poor    clnld.        Farewell  !  " 

III'  Iclt  al  once  thai  it  lie  lei  liei-  l;o  he  should  never  see  her  again. 
lie  raiseil  her.  carried  her  lo  a  couch,  made  her  sit  down,  and  tlicn, 
kneeling    bv     her.     and     making   .1    chain     ol    his    arms,     cried  : 

''You  shall  not  go.  mamma.  I  love  you,  and  I  will  guard  you.  1 
will   guard    V()u    for    I'ver;    lor   you    are    mine." 

With    broken    \()ice    she    murmured  : 

•'  No.  no.  my  poor  child,  it  is  no  longer  possilde.  l'o-night  you 
weep  with  me — to-morrow  you  will  east  me  out.  You  would  never  |)ardon 
nie — never." 

He  replied  with  such  a  rush  ol  sincere  love  :  '  \\'hat,  I  '  I.'  How 
little  you  know  mc!"  that  she  uttered  a  cry,  took  his  head  between  her 
open  hands,  tirew  him  vehemently  towards  her,  anil  kissed  him  Iran- 
tically    on    the    laee. 

Then  she  was  motionless,  with  her  cheek  pressed  to  the  cheek  of  her 
son,  feeling  the  heat  of  his  flesh  through  his  heard;  ami  she  whispered 
in    his    ear  : 

"No.  my  little  .Jean.  You  would  not  forgive  me  to-morrow.  Yon 
think  you  would,  but  you  are  mistaken.  You  have  forgiven  me  to- 
night, and  that  forgiveness  has  saved  my  life.  But  you  musl  not  see 
me    again. 

He    continued     to    repeat,    as    he    clasped    her    close  : 

''.Mamma,    do    not    say    that!" 

•'\es,  my  child.  I  mnsi  go  away.  1  know  not  where,  nor  how  I 
^hall  do  il,  nor  what  I  shall  say,  but  it  must  be.  I  siiould  nol  dare  lo 
look    at    you    again,    nor    lo   kiss    you.        Do    you    not    undersland  .' 

I'hcn    he.     in    his    liirn.     whispered     in    her    ear  : 

■■'My  lilllc  molher,  you  shall  remain,  because  I  wish  it,  because  I 
have   need    of    you.        And    you   shall    swear    at   once    to    (jbcy    inc." 

"No.    my    child." 

"Oh.     mamma,    it     miisl     be         "N'oii     hear'       It    must    be!" 

17 


128  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

"No,  my  cliild,  il  is  impossible.  It  would  be  to  contleiim  us  both 
to  hell.  I  know  what  that  torment  is,  I  have  known  it  lor  a  month. 
You   are    touched;   but   when   this    is   over,    when  you   look    at   me   as   Pierre 

looks,    when    you    recall    what    I    have   said  to   you! Oh! — my    little 

Jean;    ihink think    that    I    am    your    mother." 

"You    shall    not   leave    me,    mother.       1    have    nothing    but    you." 

"  lUil  consider,  my  son,  that  we  shall  not  be  able  to  look  at  each 
olluT  without  a  blush,  without  my  feeling  that  I  must  die  of  shame,  and 
without   your    eyes    causing    mine    to    fall." 

"That    is    not   true,    mamma!" 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,  it  is  true!  Oh,  I  have  understood,  be  sure,  all 
the  struggles  of  vour  poor  brother,  every  one  of  them,  from  ihe  lir.st 
day.  Now  when  1  think  I  hear  his  step  in  the  house  my  heart  leaps 
as  though  it  would  burst  through  my  breast.  When  I  hear  his  voice, 
1  feel  that  I  am  ready  to  swoon  away.  But  I  had  you  left!  Now  I 
have  you  no  longer.  Oh  !  my  little  Jean,  do  you  think  I  could  live 
between   you    both  ?  " 

"Yes,  mamma.  1  will  love  you  so  much  that  you  shall  think  of  it 
no    more .  '  ' 

"Oh!       Oh!       As    if  that   were   possible!" 

"Yes,    it    is    possible." 

"How  do  you  suppose  it  is  possible  that  I  should  think  of  it  no 
more,    between   your   brother   and    you?      Would    you   think   oi'   it  no    more? 

"I    swear    that    I    would    not." 

"You   will    think   of   it   every    hour   of  the    day." 

"No;  1  swear  it.  And  besides,  listen  to  me.  If  you  go  away  I 
shall   enlist,    and    get    myself  shot." 

She  was  shocked  by  the  boyish  threat,  and  pressed  Jean  in  her  arms, 
caressing   him    with    passionate    tenderness. 

He  continued   : 

"I  love  you  better  than  you  think  oh,  much  belter,  much  better! 
Now,  be  reasonable.  Make  an  effort  to  stay  only  for  eight  (.lays.  Will 
you    promise    mc  eight   days?      You    caiinol   refuse    me   that.  ' 


Till-:     TWO     DIIOTIIKRS  129 

Slic  hiiil  her  lianils  on  Jean's  shoulders,  and,  hokling-  him  at  arms' 
length,    said  : 

"My   child let   us    try    and    he   calm,    and    not   carried    away   hv   our 

feelings.  First,  let  me  speak  to  you.  It  I  were  once  to  hear  from  your 
lips  what  I  have  been  hearing  lor  a  month  from  vour  brother;  il  I  were 
once  to  see  in  your  eyes  what  1  read  in  his  ;  if  I  were  to  guess 
by  a  single  word  tliat  1  am  otlious  to  you  as  1  am  to  him — one  hour 
afterwards,  understand  me,  one  iiour  allerwards — I  should  be  gone  for 
ever." 

"  Mother.    1    swear   to   you " 

"Let  me  linish.  For  a  monlii  I  have  suilered  all  that  a  W(uiiaii  can 
sailer.  h^roiu  the  momenl  when  I  untlerslood  that  your  brother,  my 
other  son,  suspected  me,  thai  he  was  divining  the  trulh  minute  by  minuit', 
evei'y  instant  of  my  life  has  been  a  martyrdom  which  it  is  impossible 
to  make   you    understand    " 

Her  voice  was  so  full  of  pain  that  the  contagion  of  her  tortuii'  lilh-d 
■lean's   eyes   with    teais. 

Me   wanted    to    kiss    her,    but   she    pushed   him    back. 

"Let    me    alone.       Listen.       I    have    still     much    to    tell    you.     ihat    you 

may    understand but  you    will    not    uiulerstand.       It   is    this.       11    I    were 

to   stay,    it    would    be    necessary J\o,    1    cannot!"  . 

"Tell    me,    mamma,    tell    me." 

"^^'ell  !  1  will  then.  At  least  1  shall  not  have  deceived  you.  You 
wish  that  I  should  stay  with  you,  do  you  not?  To  make  that  possible, 
llial  we  should  be  able  to  see  each  other  still,  s])eak  to  each  other,  see 
each  olhci-  daily  in  the  house — for  1  dare  no  longer  open  a  iloor,  for 
l<'ar  ol  llnding  your  brolhei-  on  the  other  side — to  do  this,  it  is  necessary, 
not  that  you  shoidd  pardon  me  (nothing  hurts  nu)rc  than  a  pardonV  but 
that  you  should  not  rcmend)er  against  mc  anylhing  which  I  have  done. 
Vtiu  nuist  feel  yourself  strong  enough,  different  enough  from  everybody 
else,  to  admit  that  you  are  not  Holaiul's  son,  without  blushing  lor  that, 
and  without  despising  me!  1  have  suffered  enough.  I  have  sullcicd 
loo   uuicli  :    I    can    sullcr    no    more — no    more.       .\nd     it     is     not    a    cpieslion 


130  THE     TWO     15  ROTH  ERS 

of  to-day,  hv  sure  ol  that  ;  I  have  siifCorccl  h^ng.  But  you  will  uovor 
fuuie  l<)  iin(l(M'sUuul  thai.  11  we  are  to  he  ahU'  lo  live  logelher  still, 
and  einhraee  eaeh  other,  my  little  Jean,  say  to  yourself  that,  if  I  was 
your  fathers  mistress,  1  was  yet  more  his  wife,  and  his  true  wife  — 
that  in  my  heart  of  iiearls  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it,  that  I  regret  nothing, 
that  I  love  him  still,  dead  though  he  he,  ihat  1  shall  love  him  for  ever, 
that  1  have  never  loved  another,  that  he  has  been  my  whole  life,  my 
only  joy,  my  only  hope  anil  consolation — everything,  everything,  every- 
thing to  me  for  oh  such  a  long  time!  Listen,  my  little  one!  Before 
God,  who  hears  me,  1  should  never  have  had  any  good  thing  in  exis- 
tence if  I  had  never  met  him — never  anything;  neither  tenderness,  nor 
sweetness,  nor  a  single  one  of  those  hours  that  make  us  regret  to  wake 
again.  Nothing!  1  owe  all  to  him!  I  have  had  only  him  in  the 
world — and  after  him  you  two,  your  brother  and  you.  \\'ithout  you,  it 
would  all  be  empty,  black  and  empty  as  the  night.  1  should  never 
have  loved  anything,  known  anything,  desired  anything.  1  should  not 
have  wept;  for  I  have  wept,  my  little  Jean.  Oh,  yes!  1  have  wept, 
since  we  came  here.  I  had  given  myself  up  to  him  entirely,  body  and 
soul,  tor  ever,  to  my  joy  ;  and  for  more  than  ten  years  I  was  his  wife, 
as  he  was  my  husband,  before  the  God  who  made  us  for  eacli  other  ; 
and  then  1  understood  that  he  loved  me  less.  He  was  always  kind  and 
thoughtful,  but  I  was  no  longer  what  I  had  been  for  him.  It  was 
over!  Oh,  how  I  wept! How  miserable  and  deceptive  is  life!  No- 
thing lasts.      And  we   came  here;   and    1    never    saw    him    again;    he    never 

came.     He  used   to  promise  in  all   his  letters I  constantly  expected  him 

■ — and  I  never  saw  him  again.  And  now  he  is  dead  !  But  he  loved 
us  still,  since  he  thought  of  you.  I  shall  love  him  to  my  last  breath, 
and  I  shall  never  forswear  him  ;  and  I  love  you  because  you  are  his 
child,  and  1  could  never  be  ashamed  of  him  before  you  !  Do  you 
understand?  I  could  not!  If  you  wish  me  to  stay,  you  must  accept 
the  hict  that  you  are  his  son,  and  we  must  speak  of  him  sometimes, 
anil  you  nuist  love  him  a  little,  and  we  must  think  ol  him  when  we 
look    at    each    other.      II     you    will    not — if   you    cannot — farewell,    my    little 


TIIK     T\V(»     liRoTllEUS  131 

one;    it    is    impossible    that   we  should    remain    logethcr    llu-ii  !       1    will    act 
as    you    decide." 

Jean    replied    in    a   gentle   voice  : 
"Stay,    mother." 

She    clasped     liini    in    lier    arms    and    began    lo    weep    again;    llicn.    ilieek 
to   cheek,    she    went   on  : 

"Yes;    hut    Pierre?      What    are   we    to  do    ahout    him?" 
"We    shall    think    of    something,      saiil    .lean,      'you    can    no    longer    live 
with    liini. 

\l    ihc    thought    ot    her    eldest-born,    she   was    contracted  with    anguish, 
"No,    I   cannot   any    longer!      No!       No!" 

And  throwing  herself  on  Jean's  breast,  she  cried,   in   her   soul's   distress  : 
•■Save  me  from  him,  my   little    one!        Save    me;    do    something,    1    know 
not   what!       Think — save    me." 
"Yes,    mamma:    I    will    thirds. " 

"At    once — you    must!       At    once — do    not    leave    me!       I    am    so    afraid 
ui    him — so   afraid  !  " 

"Y(>s,     I     will     lind    a    way.        I    promise    yon." 

"Oh,  but  (piick.  (juiek  !  You  do  not  understand  what  i  feel  when 
I   see    him." 

Then    she    nnirmured    low    in    his    ear  : 
"Keep   me    in    this    place,    with    you 

lie  hesitated,  reilccted,  and  with  his  common  sense;  perceived  the 
danger    of   this    complication. 

But  he  had  to  reason  long,  to  discuss  and  condjat  with  precise  ar- 
guments   her    insanity    and    terror. 

'Only  to-night,"  she  said;  "only  to-night.  You  can  say  to  Koland 
to-morrow    that    I    was    ill." 

"It  is  not  possible,  for  Pierre  has  gone  back.  Come,  be  brave, 
i  will  arrange  everything,  I  promise,  lo-morrow.  I  will  be  with  you 
by    nine    o'clock.      Come,    [)ul    on    your    bonnet.        I     will    take    you    home! 

"I  will  do  what  you  wish,"  she  said,  with  a  snbmissiveness  which 
was    at    once    chililish.     timid,    and    urateinl. 


132 


ÏIIK     TWO     BROTHERS 


She  tried  to  stand  up,  but  the  shock  had  been  too  severe,  her  legs 
would   no   longer  support  her. 

Then  he  made  her  take  a  warm,  sweet,  drink,  and  use  her  smelling- 
salts,  and  he  bathed  her  temples  with  vinegar.  She  let  liiiu  do  it,  feeling 
herself  exhausted,   and    comforted    as   after    an    illness. 

At  last  she  was  able  to  walk,  and  she  took  his  arm.  Three  o'clock 
was  striking    when    they   passed    the   town-hall. 

Before   the   door    of  her  house   he    embraced   her,    and    said  : 

"Good-bye,    mother,    keep  up   your   courage." 

She  went  up  the  silent  stairs  with  cautious  steps,  entered  her  room, 
hastily  undressed,  and  slipped  in  by  the  snoring  Roland,  with  the  long- 
forgotten   agitation  of  other  days. 

Pierre  was  the  only  one  in  the  house  who  was  not  asleep,  and  he 
had    heard    her    return. 


VIll 


rt^a^fotfuarii^.  ''f^r.Tkx^/^^" 


Cil  A  I'll:  u  \'iii 


WiiKN  lie  liad  rctiiiiK'd  In  liis  room.  Jean  sank  wearily  on  a  sofa  ;  for 
the  griefs  aiul  cares  wlucli  made  his  hrollier  waiil  to  rush  oil  and  lake 
flight  like  a  hiinled  animal,  acling  in  the  opposite  sense  u|)on  his  som- 
nolent nalinc.  lacked  his  legs  and  aims.  lie  felt  himsell  so  relaxed  that 
he  could  not  move,  could  not  get  inio  ixd  lie  was  relaxed  in  hody 
and  mind,  cruslicd  and  desolale.  lie  was  not  woiuidetl,  as  Pierre  had  heen, 
in  the  simplicitv  of  Ins  filial  love,  in  that  secret  dignity  which  clothes  a 
proud  heart,  hut  oveiwhelmcd  liv  a  hlow  oi  tlestiny  which  at  the  same 
lime    threatened    In^    dearest    interests. 

When  his  sold  al  last  had  grown  calm,  when  his  thoughts  had  heen 
cleared  like  drixcn  and  agitated  water,  he  laced  the  siliialion  \\liicli  had 
heen  iinloldcd  to  him.  If  he  had  leaiiicd  tiic  secret  of  his  liiilli  in  any 
other    mainu'r,    he    would    ccrlainlv    have    heen    angered,    and    would    have    lelt 

18 


136  THE     TWO     IJKOTIIKRS 

a  profoimd  uricf  ;  hut  nf'lcr  liis  (|ii;iiiel  with  his  hrother,  afU'i-  that  \  iolcul 
and  hrulal  (U'liunciatiou  which  had  sliakcn  his  nerves,  the  acute  sul'lering 
and  confession  of  his  motlier  left  him  without  the  energy  to  rebel.  The 
shock  to  his  sensibility  had  been  strong  enough  to  carry  oil,  by  an  irre- 
sistible compassion,  all  the  pi-ejudices  and  sacied  susceptibilities  ol  natural 
morality.  Besides,  he  was  not  one  ol  the  men  who  resist.  He  did  not 
like  to  fight  against  anybody,  and  still  less  against  himself;  he  therefore 
resigned  himself;  and  by  instinctive  inclination,  by  an  inborn  love  of 
repose,  and  of  a  pleasant  and  tranquil  life,  he  immediately  worried  himsell 
over  the  perturbations  which  were  about  to  surround  him,  and  invade  him 
personally,  lie  saw  that  they  were  inevitable,  and,  in  order  to  keep  them 
off,  he  resolved  upon  vast  efforts  of  energy  and  activity.  It  was  neces- 
sary that  the  difficulty  should  be  solved  forthwith  ,  the  very  next  day  ; 
for,  again,  he  now  and  then  felt  that  imperious  craving  for  immediate 
solutions  which  constitutes  the  whole  force  of  the  weak,  who  are  incapable 
of  a  long  activity  of  the  will.  His  lawyerdike  mind,  accustomed  to  disen- 
tangle and  examine  complicated  situations,  and  matters  of  private  concern 
in  families  overtaken  by  trouble,  at  once  recognized  all  the  immediate 
consequences  of  his  brother's  state  of  mind.  He  faced  the  issues,  in  spite 
of  his  feelings,  from  a  professional  point  of  view,  as  though  he  had  been 
ordering  the  future  relations  of  clients  after  a  catastrophe  of  a  moral 
description.  It  was  certain  that  continued  dealings  with  Pierre  had  Ix-come 
impossible  inr  him.  He  could  easily  avoid  him  by  remaining  at  home, 
but  then  it  was  imj^ossible  that  their  mollu-r  should  conlinue  to  live  under 
the  same  roof  with  her  ehlest  son. 

He  meditated  for  a  long  time,  motionless,  on  his  cushions,  constructing 
and    rejecting  combinations,   without    finding   one    to    satisfy    him. 

But  suddeidy  an  idea  seized  him — '■  \\'ouId  an  honest  man  keep  this 
fortune  which   had   fallen   to  him  ?  " 

lie  answered  "  No,"  at  first,  and  resolved  to  give  il  to  the  jxior. 
That  was  hard — so  much  the  worse.  He  would  sell  his  lurniture  ,  anil 
work  like  any  one  else — like  all  men  at  tlie  outset  of  their  lives.  This 
manly    and    painful    resolution    having   whipped   up   his   couiage,    he    rose   and 


TlIK     TWO     lîlidTlIKIiS  i;{7 

stood  ^\illl  liis  f'ncc  to  the  window.  Il(>  had  \)ccn  jioor .  and  was  lo 
become  |ioor  ai;ain.  Il  \\(iiil(l  not  kill  him,  alter  all.  His  cncs  looked  al 
the  i^MS  |et  which  hiinied  in  IronI  ol  hiin  li'oiii  the  olher  side  ol  the  street. 
iV'ow,  as  a  woman  passed  slowU  on  the  |)a\c>inent,  he  siiddenh  llionghl  ol 
Madame  Uos(''millv ,  and  re(ei\('d  in  his  heart  liie  shock  oi  deep  feeling 
which  springs  nj)  within  ns  alter  a  crnel  ihougiil.  .\ll  the  disheartening 
Consc<|uences  ol  Ins  decision  ajjpeared  ixdoie  him  al  the  same  moment, 
lie  nuist  give  up  the  idea  of  marrying  this  woman  ,  renounce  happiness, 
renounce  everything.  Could  he  act  thus,  now  thai  iu'  liad  engaged  iiim- 
sell  lo  her  ?  She  luul  accepled  him,  knowing  that  he  was  lich.  If  he 
were  \mu>v  she  might  slill  accept  him  ;  hiil  had  he  llie  right  lo  expect 
it  of  her,  lo  impose  lliis  sacrilice  upon  her  .'  W Oiild  it  not  he  heller  lo 
kce|)  lliis  iiKuiev  as  a  deposit,  whicli  he  couki  give  to  the  pooi-  later  on  .' 
And  in  his  soul,  whose  sellishness  look  honest  disguises,  all  his  maski'tl 
interests  strove  and  conlcnded.  His  (irst  scru])les  gave  place  to  ingenious 
argiimeuls,  then  reappeared,  then  again  were  ellaeed.  Once  more  he  sal 
down,  gnij)iiig  for  a  licfinile  motive  ,  an  overpowering  picte.xt  lo  llx  his 
hesitation  and  coii\iiice  his  innate;  sense  of  right.  TwcnU'  limes  he  put 
this  (pu'slioii  Id  himsell  :  "  Since  I  am  the  son  ol  this  man,  since  I  know 
it  and  accept  the  position,  is  not  il  natural  that  I  should  also  accept  his 
becjuest  }'  I'ml  ihe  aigiimeiit  could  not  slille  the  "  ISo,  '  pionoiinced  by 
his  inward  conscience.  SiiddciiK'  the  thouj>ht  :  "  Since  I  am  not  the  son 
of  the  man  whom  I  believed  lo  be  my  lather.  I  can  no  longer  accept 
anxlliiiig  liom  hiiii,  alise  tn-  dead.  That  would  i)e  neithei'  right  ncu-  lair.  It 
would    be    lobbing   my    brother.  This    new    way  ol    looking  at   things   Inning 

consoled  him  ,  and  appeased  his  conscience,  he  returned  to  the  window, 
'■^'es,"  he  said  to  lilmseH.  ■  I  must  renounce  the  lamiK-  loiliine — leave  il 
unloiichcd  to  my  brother,  because  I  am  not  the  s(Ui  ol  his  lather.  That  is 
pisl.  Then  is  it  not  also  pisl  that  I  should  keep  m\  own  lathers  money:'" 
Having  recogni/,ed  lli.il  he  could  not  prolll  b\  Holand's  l(H-|unc,  having 
decided  lo  ali.iiidnii  it  absoliitelv,  he  coiiseiiled  and  resolved  to  keep  thai  ol 
Maréchal;  lor  bv  repudiating  both  one  and  the  other,  he  would  be  reduced 
to   simple    m  e  I  u  1 1  c  1 1  y . 


138  THE     TWO     lï  HOT  in;  US 

This  delicate  malter  once  anangccl,  he  came  hack  lo  the  ([iieslion  of 
Pierre's  j^resence  in  his  parents'  house.  How  was  he  to  he  kept  away  .' 
lie  was  despairing  of  finding  a  practical  solution,  when  the  whistle  ol 
a  steamer  coming  into  port  seemed  to  give  him  an  answer  hy  suggesting 
an    idea. 

'Piien  he  threw  himself,  dressed  as  he  was,  on  his  hed,  and  dreameil 
uiilil    ilav    came. 

Ai)out  nine  o'clock  he  went  out  to  make  sure  if  the  execution  of  his 
plan  was  possihle.  Next,  after  a  few  walks  and  a  few  visits,  he  Avent 
to    his    mother's    house.      She   was    waiting    for    him,    shut    up   in    her   room. 

■If  vou  had  not  come,"  she  said.  -l  should  never  have  dared  to 
go    down. 

Presently   Roland   was   heard    crying   on    the    stairs  : 

"Is    there    to    he    nothing   to   eat   to-day,    nom    d'un    chien?'' 

Nobody    answered,    and    he    shouted   : 

"  Joséphine,    what   the    devil    are    you    doing  ?   " 

The   maids  voice  replied  from   the  recesses  of  the  basement  : 

■'  IMease  sir,   what  is  it?   " 

"  Where  is  Madame  }  " 

'•  Madame  is  upstairs  with   M'sien  Jean." 

Then   he  bawled,   raising  his  head   upwards  : 

'■  Louise  ! 

Madame    lloland   half  opened   her  door,    and   answered    : 

"  What,    my   dear  ?  " 

"  Nothing    to    eat,    nom   il'nn  cliicn  !  " 

■    There,    mv    dear,    we    are   coming.' 

Then    she   went   down,    followed   by  Jean. 

As   M.    Roland    saw    the   young    man,    he    crietl   : 

"All,    so   you   are   there!     Already    sick    of  your    rooms?" 

"No,  father,  but  I  wanted  to  have  some  talk  with  mamma  this 
morning." 

Jean  came  down  with  outstretched  hand,  and  when  he  fell  th(>  paternal 
grasp    of   the    old    man    tighten    on    his    fingers,    a    strange    ami    unloreseen 


À<ivnn-)taf  J'ino  yi<trn 


•'XmSiMff/X^'- 


TiiK    TWO    i;  HOT  in;  US 


139 


cMiiulioii   sci/cil    ii|)(iM    liim  —  an    ciiioLioii   of    soparalioii   anti    larewclls,    ^\itllo^lt 
hope  ol   return. 

■•  Picrro    lias    not    come    down  .'       asked    Madame    Uolaiid. 

Her   liiisliaiul    slirugged    his    sliouldeis. 
■  .\o.   I>ul  lie   is  always  late,    so  much  the  worse   lor   him  !      Let  us  begin 

willioul      luiU." 

She    turned    to    Jean    : 

'•You  should  go  and  Irlrli  him,  my  child.  It  imrts  him  when  we  do 
not    wail    lor    him. 

•'  ^  es.     mamma,     I    w  dl    go." 

And  the  young  man  went  out.  lie  s|)rang  upstaii'S.  with  ihi'  ieyerish 
haste    ol    a    timid    man    about    to    light. 

When    he    knocked    at   the   door,    Pierre    cried    : 

'•  Come    in. 

He    enlcred.       The   other    was    ^yriting.    hent    oyer    the    table. 

■•  (iood    morning.       said    .lean. 

Pierre    got    up. 

"  Good    morning.  " 

And    llicy    held    out    iheir    hands   as   though    nothing   had    liap|)ened. 

■"Are    \'ou    nol    coming    down    lo    breaklast  .' 

'■  \\'hv the    lact    is        -    I     lia\e    a    lot    ol"  work     lo    do." 

The  yoice  ol  the  elder  brother  trembled,  and  his  an.\ious  eye  «-learly 
asked    the    younger    what    he    meant    to    do. 

"  They    are    waiting    ibr    you. 

'^  Is is    OUI'    molhei'    dow  n   ?  " 

''Yes.        Indeed    it     was    she    who    sent    me    lo    letch    you." 

"  Oh.     then     I     will    come." 

nelurc  ihe  door  ol  the  dining-room  he  hesitated  to  show  himsell  lirst  ; 
then  he  npciu'd  it  wilh  a  jerk,  and  saw  his  father  and  his  mother  seatcul 
at     table,    lace    lo    lace. 

He  approached  her  lirst  without  lifting  his  eyes,  without  saying  a  word, 
and,  stooping  down,  presented  his  lace  for  her  to  kiss,  as  he  had  (Ion(> 
lor    some    lime,     instead    ol     kissing     lier     clieelis     as     ol     old         He     supposeil 


IW  THE     TWO     1Î  HOT  Hi:  II S 

IIkiI  her  inoulli  appioaclu'tl  liini,  hiil  lie  did  tml  led  her  li|)s  on  Iiis  I'luc. 
and  lie  slraialilcMU'd  hiniseli,  willi  a  Ix'alinii-  licarl.  alter  (Ids  sijiiiddcrum 
of   a   eaivss. 

"  W'lial,  "'    he    was    ihitdving,    "did    they    say    after   I    left?" 

Jean  said  tenderly,  over  and  over  again,  "  niotliei-,  and  'tlear  mamma, " 
looked  after  her,  supplied  her  wants,  and  poured  out  for  her.  Then  Pierre 
untlerstood  that  they  luul  wept  together,  but  lie  could  not  penetrate  their 
thoughts.         Dill    Jean    thini;    his    mother    guiltv,    or    his    hrollier    a    wretch? 

.\rul  all  the  reproaches  whicli  lie  had  heaped  on  hiuiself  lor  having 
reveaieil  the  horrihle  truth  assailed  him  again;  contracted  his  throat,  and 
closed    his    mouth,    prexenling    him    liom    either    eating   or    sjjcaking. 

Now  he  was  attacked  hv  an  intoleiahle  desire  to  (lee  away,  to  quit 
this  house  ^\hich  was  no  longer  his,  these  people  who  held  him  no  longer, 
save  l>v  imperceplilile  bonds.  And  he  woidtl  have  liketl  to  go  at  once, 
no  matlei'  where,  feeling  that  ail  was  over,  that  he  could  no  longer 
remain  with  them  .  that  he  would  be  always  torturing  them  in  spile  of 
himself,  il  ordv  bv  his  presenee,  and  that  they  would  make  him  suffer 
ceaselessly    an    insu|)portal)le    torment. 

Jean  spoke,  talking  ^^ilh  M.  Hohnul  whilst  Pieire  did  not  listen — tlid 
not  even  hear.  Hut  he  thougiit  tiiat  he  lelt  a  signilicancc»  in  iiis  brother's 
voice,    and    took    note   of   the    nu-aning   of  his    words.      Jean    was    saving   : 

"  It  will  be,  they  say,  the  finest  vessel  in  their  lleet.  Thev  talk 
of  si.\  thousand  live  hundred  tons.  It  will  make  its  lirst  Aovaue  next 
month." 

Uoland  Avas  astonished. 

"  So  soon.      I    thought   it  would   not  be   readv   for  sea    this   summer." 

'•  Oh,  ves.  They  have  pushed  on  the  work  so  lliat  the  first  voyage 
might  take  j)laee  before  the  autumn.  I  was  at  the  office  of  the  Company 
this    morning,    and    talkeil    with    one    ol    the    managers." 

'^  So  !      So  !      Which  of  them  ?" 

"  .M.    .Mareluuul,    the  special   friend   ol    the   chairman." 

"  Why,    do  you    know    him  ?" 

"  Yes,    and    then    I    had    a    little    favour    to   ask    him." 


Tin;    TWO    iii!oTiii:iis  i4i 

"  All.    tlicii    yoii    can    <^<M    lur    taki-ii    over    llic     Lorraine    as   soon    as    she 
comes    into    liailxnir,    can  I    Mm  .'" 
'■  Of  coiii'se.    that   is  soon   ilonc. '" 

Jean    seemed    lo    Iicsitalc,    as    ii    lliinkin^-    how    to    (wprcss    hini^cH,    and 
atlcmptin<^-   a    difficnll    change   of   snbject.      He    went    on  : 

•■  Xo    donht   ahont    it.    life    on    those   great   Transatlantic    steamers    is    very 
enviahh\      More    than    hall    llie    uiontli    is    spent   on    huid,    in    two    magnilicent 
towns.    .New    \^n^\<    and    lla\|-e.    and     tlic    rest    at    sea,    with    cliainiing    people 
\\  h\',    one    can    make    in     this     way    wvy    agreeable    actpiaintames    amongst 

the  passengers,  ^yho  will  he  uselid   later  on Yes,  yery  nselnl.    Just  lancy  ! 

The    captain,    l)v    economising   coal,   can    make    twenty-fiye    thousand    iiancs 
a  year,   if  not  nnjre. 

"  /^/i.'/v  .' "    said    lloland  :   aiul    he   whistled,    to    show  his  proloiind   respect 
lor    the    sum    and    lor    the    ca[)tain. 
Jean    continuetl    : 

"  The  stewai'd  can  rise  to  ten  thousand,  antl  the  doctor  lias  li\e  tlioiisanil 
francs  regular  salary,  with  lodgings,  food,  lights,  coals,  attendance,  and  so 
forth.       That    must    mean    ten    thousand    at    least,    which    is    a    fair   sum." 

Pierre,  who  had  raiseil  his  eyes,  met  those  of  his  hiother,  anil  under- 
stor»!    him. 

Then,    alter   some    hesitation,    he    asked   : 

''Are    these    surgeoncies   yery    hard    to   get    on    a    Transatlantic?" 
"Yes — and    no.      .\ll    de|)ends    on    circumstances    and    inlluence." 
Ther(^    was    a    long    sdence.      Then    I  lie    doctor    continued    ; 
■■   Ihe    l.niidiHc    leaves    ne.\t    month  .' 
"  Yes,    on   the    7th." 
'Ihev    were    silent    again. 

Pierre  was  thinking.  It  would  certainly  he  a  solution,  if  he  could  go 
abroad  as  docloi-  on  tins  steamer.  .\flei'  that— well,  liiey  would  see. 
P<alia|i-.     lie     might     give      it     up.         .Meanwhile     he     would      he     earning    his 

li\elilioo(l    will I    asking    his     i.imily    for    anything.       Tiie    nighl     helore,    he 

Ii.hI     1i;i(1     to    sell     his     watch,     lo|-    he     no    longer     held    out     his     hand     lo    his 
iiiollier  1      Then    he    had    no    resources,    when    that    was   gone— no   chance   of 


i',2  Till':    TWO    nr.iiTii i;ns 

eating   any    food    l)iit    that    of    tliL-    liouse    he    lived    in,    of    sleeping    in    any 
other   bed,    under    any    other    roof.      And   he   said,    with    a    little   hesitation  : 

■•  I    would    gladly  go    out    in    one    ol'   tlieni    it'   1    could." 
■  Whv    ean't   you^'"   Jean    asked. 

"Because    I    know   no    one    in    the    Vomjxi'^nic    Ircinsallantiqtie/' 

Roland    was    astounded. 

'And  what   is   to   become   of  all  yoiu'   line   plans   lor   making   a   fortune.'" 

Pierre    murmuied  : 

"  There  are  times  when  you  must  be  able  to  sacrifice  everything,  and 
renounce  your  best  hopes.  Besides,  it  is  only  an  ojjening,  a  way  of 
saving    uj>    a    few   thousand    francs,    so    as    to    settle    dt)wn    allerwards.  " 

His    father   was    convinced    at   once. 

"  That  is  quite  true.  In  two  years  you  can  lay  by  si.\  or  seven  thou- 
sand, which,  ])ropcrly  used,  will  go  a  long  way.  What  do  you  think  of 
it,   Louise  ^ 

"  1    think    Pierre    is    right. 

Uolantl    cried   ; 

"Well  I  shall  go  and  talk  about  it  to  .M .  I'oulin  .  who  is  a  great 
friend  of  mine.  He  is  Judge  of  the  Tribunal  of  Commerce,  anil  has  to 
do  with  the  alTairs  of  the  Company.  There  is  M.  Lenient  also,  the 
shijiowner,    who    is    intimate  with  one  ol   the  deputy-chairnu'n.  ' 

Jean   askc'd  his   brother   : 

"  Woidd    vou    like    me    to    try    my    luck    with    M.    .Marchand    lo-dav  V 

•'  ^ Cs,    I    shoulil  be   very   glad." 

After  thinking  a  few  instants,   Pierre  went  on   : 

"  The  best  way,  after  all,  perhaps,  wouki  be  to  write  to  my  professors  of 
the  School  of  Medicine,  who  used  to  think  pretty  well  of  me.  They  often 
send  a  very  average  sort  of  man  on  these  steamers.  M  arm  letters  from 
Professors  Mas-Roussel,  Rémusot,  Flaihe,  and  Borrirpiel  would  manage  the 
thing  out  of  hand,  better  than  anv  doubtful  introductions.  It  \\ould  sulllce 
to    present    these    letters    llu'ough    vour    iricnd,    .M.    Mar(  hand,    to    the    Boai'd.   ' 

Jean  was  all   aj)proval. 

••  Your   idea   is  excellent,   excellent  ! 


TIIK     TWO     i;  I»,  (I  Tin:  Il  S  143 

Ami  Ik'  siinU'd.  r<MSMiic'(l.  ;ilin()>l  Imppy,  ;nul  (('ilain  of  success  ;  for 
he   was    inca|)al)lo    ol    hoiililint^    liimscll    for   long    at    a    lime. 

"  Voii    will    wiilc    lo    llu-m    to-day,"    ho    said. 

"  \l  (Hi((> — imnicdiaU'lv.  I  am  y<iiny  to  do  it  now.  1  wont  have  any 
colVee    this    morning'  ;    I    am    loo    nervous." 

He    rose    and    went    oui.      'I'Iumi    .lean    liirncd    lo    his    mother. 

■'Now,    man)ma,    what    are    yon    going    to    do  V 

'■  Nothing.      I    don'l    know." 

■"Will    you    couH'    willi    me    Lo    .\hulame    liosémilly  s  ?  " 

"  Oh — yes.    if  you    like." 

•'  You    know    it    is    indispensable    that    1    should    go    to-day." 

••  \"es — yes  !      That    is    true." 

'•  How  is  that  .'  Imlispensahle  ?"  asked  {{olaml,  \\\n)  indeed  was  never 
wont    to    understand    what    was    said    helore    him. 

'■  IJeeause    I    pronilscd    hci'    to    go    there. 

'■  .\h,    very    well  !      That    is    anothei'    thing.  " 

And  he  hegan  to  lill  his  pipe,  whilst  mother  and  son  went  u[)slairs 
to   get    ready. 

When   they    weic    in    the    street,   Ji-an   said    lo    her  : 

••  Will    you    take    my    aian,    mamma  .'  " 

He  never  used  to  offer  it.  for  ihev  were  wont  to  walk  side  l)y  side. 
She    accepted    it.    and    leaned    upon    liiui. 

for    some    time    tliev    ilid    not    speak.       fhen    he    said  : 

"■  ^<)U    see    that    I'ieri'e    is    (|uile    willing    to    go    away  ! 

"  I'oor    hoy,'     she    muruiured. 

■  \\'hv    |)oor    hov  .'      lie    will    nol    he    at    all    unhappv    on    the    l.fi/'/Y/i/ic." 
■No,     I    know    he    will    nol.       liul     I    am    ihlnking    o(    so    many    things." 

hong  lime  she  thought,  with  heni  head,  keeping  step  wllli  her  son, 
then,  with  llial  strange  voice  wliieli  we  souuMinu^s  put  on  to  terminate 
a    long    and    secret     meditation    : 

■  l>ile     is    a     wrelehed     husiness.        If    for     omc     \'om     meet    with     a     Mille 

sweetness    out    oi     il.     von    are    wioul;    to    abandon    yourself    to     it,    and    \ou 

will     pav    lor    il     lalei-    on. 

Ill 


IV.  Till':     TWO     iîl'.oTIlEllS 

"  Don't    s|)(Mk    ol'    that.    iiiaiuiiKi  I        lie    said,    in    a    low    lone. 

"  Conlcl    1    liel|)    il  ?      I    am    always    tlnnlving    oi'    it.  " 

"  Yon    will    lorgcl." 

Slic  was  silenl  again,  ihcn  saiii,  willi  (Iccp  regrol  in  lici-  voice  :  "  Ah, 
how    ha|>|)v    1    niighl    have    hccn    if    I    had    married    anolhcr    man!" 

Im)|-  the  niomenl  her  dislike  lor  Holand  was  aroused.  She  east  upon 
his  nuliness,  his  stiipidilv.  his  awkwardness,  his  dulness  of  wit,  and  the 
coMunoii  appeaianee  of  his  person,  the  whole  rcsponsihilily  h)r  her  fault 
and  her  unhappiness.  It  was  to  that,  to  the  vulgarity  of  tiiis  man,  that 
she  owed  lh(>  fact  of  her  having  deceived  him,  of  having  driven  one  of 
lier  sons  to  despair,  and  made  to  the  other  the  most  grievous  confession 
which    could    draw    hlood    from    a    mother's    heart. 

"It  is  frightful,'  she  murmured,  "for  a  young  girl  to  marry  a  hus- 
hand    like    mine." 

.lean  made  no  answer.  lie  was  ihiidung  ol  the  man  whose  son  he 
had  liillierlo  su|iposed  himself  to  he  ;  and  perhaps  the  confused  idea  which 
he  hail  long  entertained  of  the  paternal  mediocrity,  the  constant  irony  of 
his  hrother,  the  scornful  indifference  of  otIuM-  people,  and  even  the  disdain 
oi  the  maid  for  Roland  .  had  |nepared  his  minti  for  his  mother's  terrible 
confession.  It  cost  him  less  on  this  account  that  he  was  another  man's 
son  ;  and  after  the  great  shock  of  emotion  the  night  before,  if  he  had  not 
experienced  the  same  leactionarv  shock  oi  rebellion  .  indignation  .  ami 
angei-  which  was  fell  by  Madame  Roland  .  it  was  because  he  had  long- 
unconsciously  sulli>red  by  thiidiing  himself  the  son    of  this    mild    old   dullard. 

Thev  had  reached  Madam(>  Hosénnllys  dooi'.  She  lived  in  llu-  Sainte- 
.\dri'sse  road,  on  the  second  story  oi'  a  large  building  which  belonged  to 
her.       I'rom     her    windows    one     could    see    the    whoh-    roadstead    ol    Havre. 

When  she  saw  Madame  Roland,  who  was  the  iirst  to  enter,  instead  of 
holding  out  her  hand  as  usual,  she  extended  her  arms  and  «Mnbiaccd  her, 
i'or    she    divined    the    reason    ol    her    visit. 

The  iurnlturc  of  the  drawing-room,  in  stamped  velvet,  was  always 
prolecled  bv  coverings.  The  walls,  coxcred  with  ilowered  paper,  bore 
four    engravings    that    had     lie(Mi    bought     bv    her    lirsl     husbaml.    the    captain. 


/' 


,  ^A'Aymuun  .{ ■"'tfi/t Mntfif tl f 


Till-:     TWO     IJlloTllKllS  l'i5 

'I'licN  r('|)i(-~('iil('il  >ca-|)ic(('s  ;iiid  sciitimciUal  scenes.  In  llie  lirsl  was 
ilepicled  a  iislierniaii  s  \\  ile  ,  \va\  iiii;'  her  liarulUcreliiel  on  llie  sea-shore, 
whilst  the  sail  ^\■hieh  hoi'e  hei'  husl)anil  a\\a\'  troin  lier  \vas  (lisap|)(>nriny 
on  the  hori/oM.  in  the  seeoiul,  the  same  woman,  kneelnii^'  on  tlu"  same 
sea-shore,  strained  her  arms  as  she  gazed  inti)  ihe  distance,  under  a  sky 
charged  with  lightning,  at  her  luishand's  shij).  loundcM'ing  in  a  sea  of 
impossihle  waxes.  The  olher  two  pictures  icpresenti'd  analogous  scenes 
in  a  siijx'rioi'  social  rank.  A  lair  young  woman  muses  as  she  leans  upon 
the  rail  of  a  departing  steamer.  She  is  gazing  at  the  already  distant 
coast,    her   eyes    moist   with    tears  and  regrets. 

Who  is  the  man  she  has  left  behind  her  ? 

Next,  the  same  young  woman,  seated  near  a  window  which  oj^cns  on 
the  sea,  has  fainted  in  her  chair.  A  letter  has  fallen  from  her  lap  to 
the    carpet. 

Ile    is    dead  ;    and    she    is    in    despair. 

N'isitors  were  generally  moved  and  drawn  hy  the  commonplace  sadness 
of  these  Iransparent  and  poetic  subjects.  Tbey  tcjok  them  in  at  once, 
wilhoul  explanation  or  iiupiirx  ami  pitied  the  |)Oor  wonu'ii,  allhough  they 
did  not  precisely  know  the  source  ol  grid  in  the  case  of  the  superior 
lad\-.  Iiut  e\cn  this  (|()id)t  heightened  their  imagination.  She  must  have 
lost  her  hehdilied.  As  soon  as  a  visitor  entered,  his  eye  was  irresistibly 
attracted  li\  these  lour  subjects,  and  hehl  as  by  a  sort  of  fascination. 
It  left  them  only  to  reluiii  again,  ami  to  contemplate  the  foui'  shades  ol 
expression  in  the  two  women,  who  wei'e  like  enough  to  be  sisters.  I'rom 
the  dear,  linished,  careful  drawing,  in  the  style  of  a  fashion  plate,  ami 
from  the  glittering  frame,  there  breathed  a  sense  of  propriety  and  exactitude 
which  the  r(>sl  f)f  llie  iuiiiilure  still  lurlher  accentuated.  The  chairs  were 
arranged  in  unvarying  (jixlei',  some  against  the  walls,  others  riMind  ihe 
centre  table.  The  while  and  spotless  curtains  hung  in  folds  so  straight 
and  regular  that  one  longed  to  tund>le  them  a  little;  and  not  a  grain  ol 
dust    disligured     the    glass    shade     in     which     the    gilded    clock     in    the    style 

of  the  I'lmpire    -a    globe  carried  hv  .\tlas   kneeling seemed   lo  be   ripening 

like    a    melon    in    a    Irame. 


146  THK     TWO     1]  11  OTHERS 

As  the  two   ladies   sat  down,    they  chaiigeil    llie  position   of  tlieir   chairs. 

'You  have  not  been  out  to-day?"   Madame  Rohuid  asked. 

''No;    I   eonl'ess   that   I   am   rather  tired." 

And    slie    went    over,    as    though    to    thank    Jean     and     his    mother    for 
it,    all    the   pleasure   which    she    had    received    from    the    fishing. 

"You  must  know,"  she  said,  "that  I  ale  my  shrimps  this  morning.  They 
were  delicious.      If  you  like,  we  will  repeat  that  picnic  some  day  or  other." 

The   young    man    interrupted   : 

"Before   we    begin    a    second,    suppose    we    linish    the    first?" 

"  Mow    do   you    mean  ?     It   seems    to    me    that    it    is    finished." 

'•  Oh,  Madame,  I  too,  caught  a  fish  amongst  those  rocks  of  Saint-Jouin, 
which    1   should    like    to    take    home    with    me." 

She    became    innocent   and    mischievous. 
•  You  ?     How   so  ?     What    did    you   find  ?" 

"  A  wife.  And  mamma  and  I  have  come  to  ask  you  if  she  has  not 
changed    her    mind    this    morning. 

She   began    Ui    smile. 

'No,   sir;    I    never   change    my    mind." 

Then  it  was  his  turn  to  hold  out  to  her  his  big  hand  .  into  which 
she  let  hers  fall  with  a  brisk  and  resolute  movement.  And  he  said  : 
■"You    will    niak(-    it    as   soon    as    possible — will    you    not?" 

■'  \\  hen    you    like.  " 

"In    six    weeks  ?  " 

''  I  have  no  opinion  in  the  matter.  \\haL  does  mv  fulure  molher-in- 
law    think    about    it  ?  " 

Madame    UolantI    replied    with    a    rather    melancholy    smile    : 

"Oh,  as  lor  me.  I  think  nothing.  1  simpiv  thank  you  for  having 
been    willing    to    accept    Jean,  for   vou    will    make    him    very    happy." 

"  What    is    possible    shall    be    done,    mamma." 

A  little  moved,  lor  the  lirst  time,  Madame  Rosémilly  got  up,  and 
taking  Madame  Uoland  in  hei'  arms,  gave  her  a  long  kiss,  like  a  child  : 
and  under  this  novel  caress  a  strong  emotion  swelled  the  sorrowing- 
heart  of  the  poor  woman.     She  could  not  have  said  what  hail  come  over  her  ; 


THE     TWU     U 11  UT  Hi:  11 S  147 

it  was  sad  and  sweet  at  the  saiiu!  Liiiie.  Slic  liatl  lost  a  son  ,  a  grown- 
up son  ;  aiul  in  liis  place  she  had  received  a  ilauyhlcr,  a  grownup  daughter. 
When  ihey  sat  down  ("ace  to  face  again,  on  their  chairs,  lliey  took 
each  otiiei's  hands,  and  remained  in  that  way,  looking  at  one  another 
anil  smiling,  whilst  .lean  seemed  to  he  almost  lorgotten.  Ihey  spoke  ol 
a  nundxT  of  things  of  which  they  had  to  think  in  connection  with  the 
approaching  mairiage.  W  hen  all  was  decided  and  arranged,  Matlame  Uosé- 
milly    seemed    suddenly    to    hcthink    herself   ol    a    detail,    and    asked   : 

•  \ Ou    ha\t'    consulted    M.    Uoland,    have    you    not?" 

The  same  hlusli  all  at  once  tinged  the  cheeks  of  mother  and  son.  It 
was    the    mother    wlio    answeri'tl   : 

"Oh.    no,    that    is    unnecessary." 

Then  she  hesitated,  feeling  that  an  ex[)lanation  was  called  for:  and 
she    wcui    on    : 

•  We  are  doing  everything  without  idling  him   of  it.      It  will    he  enough 
to   iulorm    him    when    it    is    decided.  ' 

.Madame  Hosémilly  smiled,  in  no  way  surprisetl ,  considering  it  very 
natural;    lur    thr    worthy    man    counted    for    so    little. 

When    Madame    Uoland     was    once    more     in     the    street    with     her    son   : 
•'  Suj)pose    we    go    to    your    rooms,"    she    said  ;    ''  I    want    to    rest." 
She    lelt    lieiscif   willioul   protection    or   refuge,   heing  afraid   of  her  home. 
Tliey   went    to   Jean  s  ;    and    as   soon    as   she   saw  the  door  closed  hehind 
her    she    hreathed    a    deep    sigh,    as   if  the   lock    liad    placed    her   in    security, 
riien  ,    instead    ol'    resting,    as    she    had    said,    she    hcgan    to   open    the    cup- 
boards,   to    coniil    llie    |)iles   ol    linen,   anil   the    inindier  of  handkerchiefs  and 
socks.      She    changed    iheii-   arrangenu-nts    for   others    more    to    her    mind,    and 
more   satisfactory    to   lu'r    housewifely    instinct;    and    when    she    had   disposed 
everything    to     her    taste,     ranged    the    towels,    drawers,    and    shirts    on    the 
proper    sheKcs.     and    dividid    all    the    linen    into    their    main    classes,    of  body 
linen,    houseliohl    linen,    and    table    linen,    she   stepped    back    lo    look    al    her 
work,    ami    said    : 

■.lean,    come    here,    and    see    how     nice    it     is." 
lie    rose   and    admired    it.    in    onlei'    to    please    her. 


148 


THE     TWO     lîROTHERS 


SudtltMilv.  \\  licii  he  liiul  sal  down  a^aiii,  she  a])]in)a(licil  his  cliaii- 
liiihtlv  from  behind,  and,  takin"-  liini  round  the  neck  \vit!i  her  riulit  arm, 
kissed  him  as  slie  sel  on  ihe  mantelpiece  sometliing  folded  in  ^vllile  j)a|)or, 
which    she    had    held    in    her   other    hand. 

"  What    is    that  .'  "    he    asked. 

'J'hough  slie  did  not  answer,  he  undersLootI,  lor  he  recogni/ed  the  shape 
ot    the   frame. 

"  Give  it  to  me,  '   he  said. 

Hilt  she  pretended  not  to  hear,  and  went  baik  to  her  linen  closets.  lie 
rose,  eagerly  seized  the  painful  relic,  and,  crossing  the  room,  went  and 
locked  it,  with  a  double  turn  of  the  key,  in  a  drawer  of  his  desk.  Then, 
with  the  ti|)s  of  her  fingers,  she  wiped  a  tear  from  her  eye,  and.  faltering 
a  liltle    in    her   voice,    said   : 

"  Now  1  am  going  to  see  if  your  new  maid  looks  after  her  kitchen 
properly.  As  she  is  out  just  now,  1  can  inspect  everything,  and  see  for 
myself.  " 


■"  '^TBiTr- 


IX 


JU  _   - 


CHAPTER    IX. 

The  testimonials  of  Professors  Mas-Roussel,  Rémusot,  Flaclio.  .iiul  noniqucl. 
AviitlcMi  in  vcrv  (lallcrin^-  terms  on  hohall'  of  their  pupil.  Dr.  Pierre  Roland, 
hail  hecn  submilled  hv  .M.  .Marchand  to  the  Hoard  ol'  the  Compagnie 
transatlantique,  supported  liy  MM.  Poidin  .  jinlge  ol'  the  Trihunal  ol 
Commerce,  Lenient,  a  large  shipowner,  and  Mari  val.  deputy-mayor  ol 
Havre,   the    latter   a    special    friend    of   Captain    lieausire. 

It  happened  thai  nn  doelur  had  vet  been  nominated  to  the  Lorraine, 
and    Pierre    had    the    j^udd     luck     lo    he    appointed    wilhin    a    few    days. 

'i'lic  letter  anu(  umcinL;'  the  fact  was  handed  to  hiui  one  morning  hy 
the    maid    .Joséphine,    as    he    finished    dressing. 

Ills  iirsi  ieelitig  was  that  of  a  man  condemned  to  death,  who  is 
itd'ormed    of   a    couiuuitit ion    of   his   sentence.       He    I'elt   his   troui)le   instantly 


relieved   i)v   the   thought   of   the    voyage    and    the    calm  existence — constantly 


152  THE     TWO     n  110  Til  Ell  S 

rocked  by  the  rolling  waves,  constantly  on  the  move,  conslanlly  fleeing 
from  himself.  At  present  he  was  living  in  his  father's  house  like  a  silent 
and    reserved    stranger. 

From  that  night  on  which  he  had  allowed  the  wretched  secret  discov- 
ered l)v  him  to  escape  him  in  his  brother's  presence,  he  ielt  that  he 
had  broken  the  last  links  with  his  own  peoj)le.  Remorse  for  having  told 
llic  ihing  [o  .lean  luurowed  him.  lie  considered  himself  odious,  unclean, 
wicked  ;    and    vet    he    was    assuaged    by    having    spoken. 

Never  ao-ain  had  he  met  the  yaze  of  his  mother  or  of  his  brother. 
In  order  to  avoid  each  other  their  eyes  had  acquired  a  marvellous  mo- 
bility, the  shifts  of  enemies  who  fear  to  cross  each  othei's  path.  lie 
was  always  asking  himself  :  '■'■  What  could  she  have  said  to  Jean  i'  Did 
she  confess  or  deny  it  ?  What  does  my  brother  believe  ?  What  does 
she — what  does  he  think  of  me?"  He  could  not  guess,  and  it  exasperated 
him.  And  he  scarcely  spoke  to  them  now,  except  when  Roland  was 
present,    that   he    might   avoid    being   questioned    by    him. 

When  he  had  received  the  letter  announcing  his  appointment,  he 
showed  it  on  the  same  day  to  his  family.  flis  father,  who  had  a  strong 
tendency  to  rejoice  at  everything,  clapped  his  hands.  Jean  replied  seriously, 
but   with    joy    in   his   soul   : 

•'  I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart,  for  I  know  there  were  many 
candidates  for  it.      You  certainly  owe  that  to  the  letters  of  your  professors.  " 

And    his    mother   bent   her   head    as    she    murmured   : 

''  I    am    very   glad    you    have    succeeded.  " 

.Vfter  breakfast  he  went  to  the  Company's  office,  to  get  information 
on  a  nuud)er  of  things,  and  he  asked  for  the  name  ol  the  doctor  of  the 
Picardie,  which  was  leaving  next  morning,  that  he  might  learn  from  him  all 
the    details    of  his    new  life,    and    of  the   special   duties   which    awaited   him. 

Dr.  I'irettc  being  on  board,  he  went  to  him,  and  was  received  in  a 
little  cabin  by  a  young  man  with  a  lair  beartl,  not  unlike  his  brother. 
1'hey   had   a   long    talk   together. 

I'^'om  the  resounding  depths  of  the  immense  vessel  they  heard  a  great 
bustle,   confused    and    never   ending,    in    which    the   desienl   of   the   cargo    as 


Till-;     TWO     I'.HdTllKRS  153 

il  was  piled  up  in  the  hold  was  niiiigled  with  Iraiupiiios,  voices,  the 
motion  of  tlio  machinery  lilling  the  tanks,  the  whistling  of  tlie  mates,  and 
the  sound  ol  dragging  chains,  or  of  the  (•ai)U's  as  they  were  Mound  on 
the  windlasses  by  the  hoarse-sounding  steam,  which  caused  the  whole 
hulk    of   the    mighty    ship    to    tpiiyer. 

But  when  Pierre  had  left  his  colleague,  and  was  once  nu)re  in  the 
street,  a  new  sadness  fell  upon  him,  and  enfolded  him  as  in  one  of  those 
fogs  which  roam  oyer  the  sea,  sweeping  from  tlu^  ends  of  the  world,  and 
hearing  something  mysterious  and  im|)urc  in  their  intangible  densencss, 
like    the    pestilential    breath    of  a    distant,    malarious    land. 

In  his  hours  of  greatest  pain  he  had  never  felt  himself  |)lunged  in 
such    a    slough    of   wretchedness. 

The  reason  was  that  the  last  rupture  had  been  made;  he  had  lost  his 
last  hold.  When  he  tore  from  his  heart  the  roots  of  every  tender  feeling, 
he  hail  not  suliered  this  misery,  akin  to  that  of  a  lost  dog,  which  all  at 
once   laid   hold    on    him. 

It  was  lU)  longer  a  moi-al  anil  tormenting  pain,  but  the  madness  ol  an 
animal  without  protection,  the  physical  anguish  of  a  wandering  creature 
who  has  no  home,  anil  who  is  assaileil  by  rain,  wind,  storm,  and  idl  the 
brutal  foi-ces  of  the  world.  \\  hen  he  set  foot  on  this  steamer  and  entered 
the  little  cabin,  slung  over  the  waves,  the  flesh  of  the  man  who  hail 
always  sle[)t  in  a  still  and  (piiet  bed  revolteil  IVom  the  precariousni'ss  ol 
all  his  future  life.  I'p  to  that  time  it  had  fell  ilself  protected  by  solid 
walls,  sunk  into  the  t(Miacious  earth,  and  by  the  certainty  of  rest  in  the 
self-same  spol.  undci-  llic  wind-resisting  roof.  A'ow,  all  that  one  loved  to 
defy  in  llic  warnilii  of  a  close-shul  house  would  become  a  dangi-r,  and 
a    constant    cause    of   sulli'rinu'. 

There  would  be  no  nuire  soil  beneath  his  feet,  but  a  rolling,  roaring, 
and  en^uliing  sea,  Xo  more  space  lo  walk,  to  run,  lo  lose  his  way, 
but  a  lew  \ards  oi'  planks  to  liamp  on,  like  a  ci  iiHleumed  man  amongst 
his  lellow  piisnuers.  Xo  more  tri-es,  garilens,  streets,  houses  —nothing  but 
water  and  clouds.  And  he  W(Uild  feel  the  ship  conslaully  moving  under 
his    feel.        (  )n    s|orm\'    d.us    he     wduld     have    lo    cIiiil''    lo    llic    bulkhead.     la\' 


154  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

hold  of  the  doors,  and  fasten  himself  to  his  hammock,  lest  he  should  be 
thrown  about.  On  calm  days  he  would  hear  the  panting  (juiver  of  the 
screw,  and  woukl  feci  the  ship  which  carried  him  sweep  on  with  continuous, 
regular,    exasperating    flight. 

And  now  he  was  condemned  to  this  life  of  a  wandering  galley-slave, 
simply    because    his    mother   had    committed    herself. 

He  walked  on  straight  before  him,  giving  way  to  the  desolate  melan- 
choly   of   men    resolved    on    exile. 

lie  no  lono'cr  felt  in  his  heart  that  loftv  scorn  and  liisdainful  hatred 
of  the  unknown  people  who  passed  him  by,  but  a  sad  longing  to  speak 
lo  Ihem,  to  tell  them  that  he  w^as  going  to  leave  France,  to  get  himself 
lisLencd  to  and  consoled.  There  was  within  him  the  shamefaced  need 
of  a  poor  man  who  is  ready  to  hold  out  his  hand,  a  timid,  yet  strong 
desire    to    feel    that    some    one    would    sulfer    by    his    departure. 

lie  thought  of  .Marowsko  The  old  I'olc  was  the  only  man  who  loved 
him  enough  to  feel  a  true  and  deep  emotion  ;  and  the  doctor  instantly 
decided    to    go    and    see   him. 

When    he   entered    the    shop,    the    dispenser,    who    was    pounding    some 
])owder    in    a    marble    mortar,    gave    a    little    start    and    quitted    his    work. 
•You    are    scarcely    ever   seen    now."    he    said. 

The  young  man  explained  that  he  had  to  do  a  great  number  of  things, 
without    saying   what    they    were;    and    as    he    sat    down    he    asked    : 

"  \A'ell,    how    are    things    going?" 

Thiu'>s  were  not  going  well.  The  competition  was  terrible,  and  sick 
men  were  rare,  and  poor  in  this  working- man's  quarter.  Only  cheap 
medicines  could  be  sold  here;  and  the  doctors  did  not  give  those  unusual 
and  elaborate  prescriptions  on  which  one  could  make  a  |)ro(it  of  five 
hundred    per    cent.       The   good    man    ended    by    saying   : 

•■'  W  it  goes  on  for  another  three  months  or  so,  I  shall  have  to  shut 
up  shop.  If  I  were  not  reckoning  on  you,  my  kind  doctor.  I  should 
already    have    taken    to    blacking    boots. 

Pierre  fell  his  heail  contract,  and  he  suddenly  decided  to  strike  his 
blow,    since    it    had    to    be   done  : 


Till-:     TWO     BROTHERS  155 

'■  Oh,  ;is  to  me,  I  can  no  loii<>ei-  he  oC  any  use  to  voii.  1  am  hMvino- 
Havre    at    tlie    hogiiining    of   next    inonlli. 

Marowsko   took    off   his    spectacles,    lie    was    so    grcally    uionciI    : 

■'  You  you  \\  liai    did    you    say?" 

'■  1    sav    that    I    am    going    lo    Umvo.    niv    poor    (riend.  " 

The  old  iiKiu  was  astounchHJ,  ieeliug  his  last  hope  ciuiidjie  away  ;  anil 
he  fell  a  sudden  animer  a<i"ainsl  this  man  whom  he  had  followed,  wluiin 
he  loved,  in  whom  lie  had  SO  much  conlideuee,  ami  who  was  lorsaking 
him    in    such    a    lasiiiou. 

lie    slammeied    out   : 

"  Hut    you,    too.    are    not    going    lo    heli'ay    me,    are    you  ?  " 

Pierre    was    so    touched    that    he    was    ready    lo    kiss    him. 

"  I  am  not  hetraying  you.  1  have  not  heen  ahle  lo  take  a  house 
here,    and    1    am    going    as    docloi'    on    a    Trausallanlic    sleanu-r.  " 

"Oh,  Monsieur  Pierre,  you  promised  uu'  so  lailhlulh  lo  help  me  lo 
get    a    li\ing  ! 

■•  \\  hal  can  I  tlo  ?  1  must  make  a  living  myself.  I  have  not  a  sou 
of   my    own. 

"This  is  very  had,"  said  .Marowsko.  '  W'hal  you  are  doing  is  very 
Lad.  TIku'C  is  nothing  lell  for  uu'  lo  tlo  but  lo  die  of  hunger.  .\l  my 
age,  all  is  over.  ll  is  had.  ^Ou  are  ahandiuiing  a  poor  old  man  w  lu) 
came    here    lo    he    with    you.       Il    is    had." 

Pierre  tried  to  explain,  lo  prolesl,  lo  give  reasons  lo  prove  ihat  he 
coidd  not  have  acted  otherwise.  The  Pole  would  not  listen,  heing  enraged 
hy  ihe  (h^serlion  ;  and  he  ended  hy  saying,  douhtless  ihiidung  ol  certain 
political    e\euls    : 

■  .\ll    you    I'^'enchmeu    hreak    your    promises." 

Then  Pierre  rose,  ridlled  in  his  luru.  and  pulling  on  an  air  of  supe- 
riont\     saul    : 

■  You  are  unjiisl,  père  Marowsko.  Strong  reasons  were  needed  to 
make  me  do  as  I  have  done;  and  you  ought  to  understand  it.  Ciood-hye. 
1    hope    you    will    Ik-    more    it-asouahle    the    next     time    I    see    you    ' 

And    so    he    wciil    out. 


156  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

"There!"    he  said;    "nobody   will   have   any    sincere   regret   tor   me!" 

He  searched  his  thoughts,  going  over  all  the  people  he  knew,  or  had 
known,  and,  amongst  the  faces  which  defded  before  him  in  his  memorj', 
he  came  upon  that  of  the  barmaid  who  had  caused  him  to  suspect  his 
mother.  He  hesitated,  for  he  retained  an  instinctive  bitterness  against  her; 
then,    suddenly    making   up    his    mind,    he    said   to    himself  : 

"  After   all,    she   was    in    the    right.  " 

And    he    set   out    for   the    street    where    she    lived. 

The  drinking-shop  happened  to  be  full  of  people,  and  full  also  of 
smoke. 

The  customers,  who  where  tradespeople  and  workmen — for  it  was  a 
holiday — w'ere  clamouring,  laughing,  crying  out,  and  the  landlord  himself 
was  serving,  running  from  table  to  table,  carrying  away  the  empty  glasses, 
and   bringinff   back   full    ones. 

When  Pierre  had  discovered  a  seat  not  far  iioui  the  bar,  he  waited, 
hoping   that   the   girl    would    see   and    recognize    him. 

But  she  passed  and  repassed  him,  without  a  glance,  tripping  lightly 
beneath   her   skirts   with    a    pretty    sauciness. 

At    last   he   rapped   on    the   table  with   a    piece   of   money.      She   ran    up  : 

"  What    shall    1    get   you,    sir  ^  " 

She  was  not  looking  at  him,  her  mind  being  absorbed  in  the  reckon- 
ings  of  the    customers    she   had   served. 

"Well!"    he    said,    "is    that   how   we    say   good  day    to    our    friends?" 

She    fixed    her   eyes    on    him,    and    said    in    a    hurried    voice   : 

"  Ah,  it  is  you.  Hope  you're  well  ;  but  Ive  lu)  lime  to-day.  Do  vou 
want   a   glass   of  beer.  " 

"  Yes,    a    glass   of  beer.  " 

^^"hen    she    brought    it,    he    said   : 

"  I    have    come    to    say   good-bye.       I    am    going    away. 

She    answered,    indifferently   : 

"  Indeetl  !       Where    are    you    going  .'  '" 

"  To    America. 

"  Thev    sav    it's    a    fine    countrv.  " 


THE     Ï\V(»     IJROTIIEUS  157 

And  that  was  all.  lie  must  surely  have  been  very  stupid  to  speak 
to   lior   that   day.    There   were    too    many    people    in    the    rrz/r. 

And  Pierre  wandered  down  to  the  sea.  When  he  reached  I  lie  |iier  hv 
saw  the  Perle,  returning  with  his  father  and  Captain  Beausire.  The  sailor 
Papagris  was  rowing,  and  the  two  men,  silting  in  the  stern,  were  smoking 
their  [)ipes  with  an  appearance  oJ  complele  haj)piness.  The  doctor  thought, 
as  he  watched  ihem  passing  :  •'  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit.  "  And  he 
seated  himself  on  one  of  the  seats  of"  the  hreakwatcM-,  lo  try  if  he  could 
lose   himself   in    an    animal    sleep. 

When  he  returned  home  in  the  evening,  his  mother  said  to  him, 
without    daring    to    raise    her   eyes    to    his    face   : 

"  You  must  have  a  number  of  ihings  to  do  before  you  go,  and  I  am 
in  a  litlle  difficulty.  I  have  just  ordered  your  linen,  and  1  have  been 
to  the  tailor's  about  your  coats  ;  but  is  there  nothing  else  you  need, 
things    that    I    may    not   know   of?" 

He  parted  his  lips  to  say  :  "No,  nothing.''  Biil  he  bethought  himself 
that  he  must  at  least  consent  to  be  well-dressed  ;  and  he  answered  very 
calmly   : 

"I    really    don't   know    yet;    I     will     enquire    at    the    Company's    office." 

He  did  enquire,  and  received  a  list  of  indispensable  articles.  AMien 
his  mother  took  it  from  him,  she  looked  at  him  lor  the  lirst  time  within 
many  weeks;  and  deep  down  in  her  eyes  there  was  the  humble,  gentle, 
sad,    and   suppliant   look    of  a    poor   beaten    dog   suing   for    pardon. 

On  the  1st  of  October  the  Lorrdine,  coming  from  Saint-Nazaire,  entered 
the  port  of  Havre,  being  timed  to  leave  again  on  the  7tli  nl  the  same 
month  for  New  York;  and  Pierre  Roland  was  to  take  [)ossessioii  ol  the 
hllle    cabin    in    which    lie    was    thenceforth    to    spend    his    life. 

On  the  following  morning,  as  he  was  going  out,  he  met  his  mother 
on    the    stairs. 

Madame  Uoland  was  waiting  for  him,  ami  miirmureil,  in  a  scarcely 
intelligible   voice   : 

"Do  you   not  want  me   lo  help  you   lo  settle  down  on  board   the  ship?" 

"  No,    thank   you.       Everything    is    ready.  " 


158  THK     TWO     BROTHERS 

"  I    should    so    much    like,'     she    imirmiircd,    "    to    see    your    eabin.  ' 
"It    is    not   worth    while.       It    is    very    ugly    and    small." 
He    passed    on,    leaving    her    downcast,    leaning    against    the    wall,    with 
blanched    face. 

Now  Roland ,  who  went  over  the  Larrdinc  on  the  same  day,  could 
talk  of  nothing  at  dinner  but  this  splenditl  ship,  and  was  much  astonished 
that  his  wife  was  not  anxious  to  know  all  al)out  it,  since  their  son  was 
to    embark    in    it. 

Pierre  scarcely  lived  with  his  family  during  the  days  which  followed. 
He  was  nervous,  irritable,  stern,  and  his  brutal  speech  seemed  to  cast 
its  lash  over  everybody.  But  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  he  appeared 
all  at  once  to  be  quite  changed  and  softened.  As  he  kissed  his  parents 
before   going    to    sleep    on    board,    he    asked    for    the    first    time    : 

"You    will    come    and    bid    me   good-bye,    on    board    ship,   to-morrow?" 
"Yes,    of  course   we    will!    '    cried    Roland.       "  ^A'on't   we,    Louise?"' 
"  Certainly,"    she   said,    in    a    low    voice. 
Pierre   went   on   : 

"  We  leave  at  eleven,  precisely.  You  nnist  be  there  at  half-past  nine, 
at   latest.  ' 

"  Stay  !  ""    cried   his   father,    "  I    have  an    idea.      When    we   leave  you    we 
will    make  haste  and   put  off  in    the   Pcrlr,    so  as  to  accompany  you   beyonil 
the  jetties,    and    see   you    again.       Shall    we,    Louise?" 
"  Yes,    certainly  !  " 

"  In    that    way,"    said    Roland,    "you    will    not    lose    us    in    the    crowd 
which    always    covers    the    pier-head    Avhen    the    Transatlantics    steam    out. 
People  on   board  can   never  tell   their  own    friends.      Uo  you   like  the  idea?" 
"Yes,    I    do.       That    is    understood." 

An  hour  later,  he  was  stretched  on  his  hammock,  narrow  and  long, 
like  a  coffin.  He  lay  there  some  time,  with  his  eves  open,  thinking  of 
all  that  had  h;ippcncd  in  the  last  two  months  of  his  life,  and  especially 
within  his  own  soul.  By  dint  of  suffering  and  making  others  suffer,  his 
aggressive  and  vengeful  grief  was  worn  out,  like  a  blunted  blade.  He 
had    scarcely    spirit   enough    remaining    to    bear    a   grudge    against   anybody. 


Tin:    iwo    niidiiiiiKs  159 

(n-  1)11  any  account,  and  he  let  his  revolt  vanish  into  thin  air.  as  lie  lelt 
his  lite  slipping  down  the  streani.  He  was  so  weaiy  of  slril'e.  of  lU-aling 
hlows,  of  hating,  of  everything,  thai  he  couki  persevere  no  longer  with 
it,  and  tried  to  steep  his  heart  in  forgetfulness,  as  one  sinks  into  sleep. 
Vaguely  he  heard  around  his  head  th(>  new  sounds  of  the  vessel,  li<>ht 
and  scarcely  perceptible  sounds,  in  this  calm  night  in  the  harbour  ;  ami 
of  his  wound,  hitherto  so  sore,  he  felt  hut  the  painful  strainings  of  a 
healing   scar. 

He  had  fallen  into  a  prolouud  sleep  when  the  mo\-euient  of  the  sailors 
dislurhed  his  rest.  It  was  growing  light,  and  (he  lidal  train,  bringing 
passengers    irt)in    Pai'is.    was    drawing    up    on    (he    «piay. 

'fhen  he  wandered  over  the  ship  amidsl  I  lie  busy,  restless  folk,  looking 
for  their  cabins,  exchanging  greetings,  questions,  and  answers  off-hand,  in 
the  strangeness  of  the  first  hours  of  theii-  journey.  After  he  had  paid 
his  respects  to  the  captain  and  shaken  hands  with  his  companion  the 
rfinu/i/ssairc  dit  liunl,  he  eiilered  the  saloon,  where  a  lew  I'^ntrlishmen 
w'ere  already  asleep  in  the  corners.  The  line  apartment,  with  walls  of 
white  marble  enclosed  in  gilded  moiddings,  extended  in  (he  mirrors  the 
pers])ective  of  its  long  tables,  flanked  with  two  endless  rows  of  revolving 
seats,  with  their  crimson  cushions.  That  was  the  vast,  floating,  cos- 
iiHipniilan  liai!  where  \\c'allli\-  travellers  ol  all  continents  were  to  take 
their  meals  together.  Its  costly  luxury  reseud)h'd  ihal  of  the  great  hotels, 
theatres,  and  public  places,  the  imposing  and  vulgai-  iuxuiy  which  satisfies 
the  eyes  of  millionaires. 

'file  ddclor  was  about  to  pass  on  into  the  |)art  of  the  ship  set  aside 
lui-  the  second  class,  when  he  rcmembeicd  thai  the  night  before  a  large 
conipanv  of  emigrants  had  been  taken  on  board,  and  he  descended  into 
the  steerage  cabin.  .\s  he  made  his  way  insitle,  he  was  greeted  by  a 
sickening  odour  ol  |)Oor  and  unclean  humanity,  a  smell  more  unpleasant 
than  that  o(  the  hide  or  wool  ol  animals.  Then,  in  a  sort  oi  dark  and 
Iiiw  iiiideri;rMiind  ia\e.  lilu-  the  galleries  of  a  mine,  Pieiae  percei\cd 
several  liuiKlicd  men.  women,  and  children,  extended  on  planks  one 
above    another,    oi-    grovelling    in     heaps    on     the     iloor.        lie    tnuid    not    ilis- 


i(jO  THE     TWO     BIlOTIiERS 

tinguisli  faces,  but  dimly  saw  that  squalul,  tattered  crowd,  that  crowd 
of  wretched  victims  of  existence,  exhausted  and  crushed,  dcparling  with 
their  lean  wives  and  half-starved  children  for  an  unknown  land,  where 
they    hopeil    that   possibly    they    might    not   die    of   hunger. 

And  the  doctor,  as  he  thought  of  their  past  labour,  their  labour  thrown 
away,  their  barren  efforts,  their  desperate  struggle,  renewed  every  day  to 
no  purpose,  and  of  the  energy  displayed  by  these  poor  wretches,  who 
were  going  to  begin  again,  without  knowing  where,  this  lile  ot  hateful 
misery,  felt  inclined  to  cry  out  to  thcni  :  ••  Go  and  drown  yourselves  in 
the  sea,  with  your  mates  and  your  little  ones  !  "  And  his  heart  was  so 
wrung   with    pity    that    he    went    away,    unable    to    bear    the    sight   of    them. 

His  father,  his  mother,  his  brother,  and  Madame  Uoscmilly  were  already 
waiting   for    him    in    his    cabin. 

''  So    soon  !       he    said. 

"Yes,"  Madame  Roland  answered,  in  tremulous  tones,  "we  wanted  to 
have   time    to    see    a    little    of  you.' 

He  looked  at  her.  She  was  in  black,  as  though  she  were  wearing 
mourning,  and  he  suddenly  observed  that  her  hair,  which  was  grey  a 
month   ago,    was    now    becoming   quite   white. 

He  had  much  difficulty  in  getting  the  four  persons  seated  in  his  little 
apartment,  and  he  himself  leaped  upon  his  bed.  Through  the  tloor.  which 
remained  open,  they  could  sec  a  crowd  as  numerous  as  that  of  the  streets 
on  a  holiday,  for  all  the  friends  of  the  passengers  and  an  army  of  mere 
sight-seers  had  invaded  the  immense  steamer.  They  walked  in  the  gang- 
ways, in  the  saloons,  and  everywhere,  and  heads  were  even  thrust  inside 
the   cabin,    whilst  voices   outside   explained  :      "That   is    the    doctor's    crib." 

Pierre  pushed  the  door  to  ;  but  when  he  found  himself  shut  in  with 
his  own  peojde  he  felt  inclined  to  open  it  again ,  lor  the  bustle  of  the 
ship    beguiled   their    awkwardness    and   silence. 

.\t  last  Madame  Rosémilly  was  good  enough   to  s])eak. 

"There  is  not  much  air  through  these  little  windows,"    she   said. 

"It  is  a  liublot,'"   Pierre  replied,    "a  port-hole    light." 

lie    pointed    out    the    thickness    of   the   glass,    which    made    it    capable   of 


THI-:     TWO     lîROTHERS  161 

resisting  tlio  most  viol(>nl  shocks.  Then,  at  considerable  lenglli,  lie  explainecl 
the   system    hy    \\hi<li    it    was   closed. 

Rohiiid    said    : 

"  ^  on    ha\('    \<iiir    medicine-chest    hei'e  ?  " 

The  doctor  o|)ene(l  a  cupboard  and  displayed  a  store  of  piuals  bearing 
Latin    names   on    labels   of  white    papeiv 

He  took  one  out,  and  enumerated  the  pioperlies  ol  Lhe  ilrugs  whieh 
coniposetl  it.  A  second  followetl,  and  then  a  I  bird,  and  he  gave  them  a 
regular  course  of  therapeutics,  to  which  they  appeared  to  listen  with  great 
attention. 

Holand  kept  on  repeating,  as  he  shook  his  head,  that  it  was  very 
interesting. 

There    was    a    gentle    rap    at    the    door. 

"Come    in,"    cried    Pierre;    and    ('a|>tain    Hcansire    made    his    ap])earanee. 

As  he  liehl  out  his  hand  he  said  :  "  I  am  late,  because  I  did  not  wish 
to    embarrass    the   elTiisions." 

He   also    had    to    sit   on    the,    bed.      1'iien    silence    (ell    again. 

But  sudtlenh'  tlie  captain  pi'icked  up  his  ears.  CiM'tain  orders  reached 
him    thi'ough    the    partition  ;    and    he    announced    : 

"  It  is  time  to  go,  il  we  mean  to  put  off  in  ihi'  Vcrlr  and  see  von 
as   you    leave,    so   as    to    say   good-bye    out    at    sea. 

M.  Roland  was  bent  upon  this,  no  doubt  in  order  to  make  an  impres- 
sion   on    the    Lorraine  s    passengers;    and    he    pimped    up    at    once. 

"Well    llien.    good-bye,    my    boy. 

lie    kissed     I'leiic    on    liis    whiskers,    and    opened    the    door. 

Madame  lioland  ditl  not  move,  and  remained  with  downcast  eyes,  and 
very  pale. 

lier    iuisband    touched    her    on    llie    arm. 

•'Come!      bet    us    make   iiaste  I      We    have   not   a    minute   to   lose." 

She  rose,  took  a  step  towards  her  son,  and  ollei<'d  hiiu  h(>r  cheeks, 
while  as  \\a.\,  \\lii(  h  he  iiissed  without  ulliM'ing  a  woi'd.  TIicm  he  shook 
hands    with    .Madame    Hosemilly    and    his    brother,    asking    the    lattei'    : 

'■  When     is    \(iur    marriaijc    to    be.'' 


1G2  THE     TWO     nUOTIlKRS 

"  I  am  iiol  <|iiite  sure  yet.  We  will  iiiake  it  coincide  with  one  of 
your   return    voyages." 

At  last  every  one  left  the  cabin  and  went  on  deck,  wliicli  was  crowded 
by    visitors,    porters,    luggage,    and    sailors. 

The  steam  was  puffing  in  the  vast  lungs  of  the  shi|).  which  seemed  lo 
be   quivering  witii    impatience. 

"Good-bye,"    said    Roland,    in    a    hurry   as    usual. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Pierre,  who  was  standing  on  one  of  the  little  wooden 
bridges   which   connected   the   Larrainr  with   the   wharf. 

lie    shook   hands    again    all    round,    and    his    family    departed. 

"  Get   into    the    carriage  !      Quick  ,    quick  !  "    cried    the   old    man. 

A  fiacre  was  waiting  for  them,  and  bore  them  to  the  tide-dock,  where 
Papagris    had    the    Perle    in    readiness    to    put   off. 

There  was  not  a  breath  of  air.  It  was  one  of  those  days,  still  autumn 
days,    on    wliicli    llie    polished   sea    looks    cold    and    hard    as    steel. 

Jean  seized  an  oar,  and  the  sailor  took  the  other  ;  and  they  began  to 
row.  On  the  breakw^aters,  the  jetties,  and  even  the  granite  coping,  there 
w-as   a    dense,    sw^aying,    and    noisy    crowd   waiting   for   the   Lorraine. 

The  Perle  passed  between  these  two  human  waves,  and  was  soon 
beyonil    llic    pici-hcatl. 

Captain   Beausire  was   seated    between    tlic   ladies,    and    guitlcd    the   helm. 

"  You  will  lind,"  he  said,  "  that  we  shall  precisely  strike  the  track, 
precisclv  !  '' 

And  the  oarsmen  pulled  hard,  so  as  to  get  as  far  as  possible.  Suddenly 
Holand   exclaimed   : 

"  There  she  is  !  1  can  see  her  masts  antl  funnels.  She  is  just  leaving 
the    basin.  " 

"  Put    it   on,    my    lads  !  "      Beausire    kept    repeating. 

Madame  Roland   took   out  her  handkerchief  and  held  it  to  her  eyes. 

Roland    was    standing,    glued    to    the    mast,    and    recorded    progress. 

"Now  she   is    making   a   turn  in    the    outer    harbour She   has  stopped 

moving She   is    moving   again She    lias    bad    to   take  a   lug  Now 

she's    (.Aï  \      Hooray! She    has    come    out    belwccMi    llic    jellies!        -     Just 


('>'■.•/'  'fc»/'//y/'  •* 


THE     TWO     P,  HOT  II  ERS  163 

hear  the   erowd   shouting  !  —    Hooray  ! The   Nepliinc  is   towiny   her 

Now   I  can   see   lici    prow-  —  There  she  is!   there  she  is! God's  name, 

what   a   ship!      Look    at    her.    all    of   yon  ! 

Madame  lloséinilly  and  lieausire  turned  round  ;  the  two  men  ceased 
to    row  :    .Madame    Hohind    alone    did    not    move. 

The  iiinnense  steamer  drawn  by  a  powerful  tug,  which  looked  like  a 
caterpillar  in  iVoiil  of  her,  was  slowly  and  majestically  (piitting  the  liarliour. 
And  the  peojile  of  Havre,  massed  upon  the  pier-head,  on  the  beach,  at  the 
windows,  all  at  once  carried  away  by  a  patriotic  fervour,  began  to  cry  : 
"  \i\'e  la  Lorraine!  cheering  and  applauding  the  splendid  start,  this 
birth  of  a  crand  ocean  city,  which  bestowed  on  the  sea  the  finest  of  lier 
daughters. 

I5ut  the  ship,  as  soon  as  she  had  passed  the  narrow  channel  closed 
in  between  two  walls  of  oranite,  feelini»'  herself  free  at  last,  cut  loose 
her  lug,  and  went  on  her  way  alone,  like  an  enormous  creature  racing 
over   the   waves. 

"There  she  is!  There  she  is!'  Uoland  kepi  on.  'She  is  bearing- 
right    down    upon    us  ! 

And    L$eausire    joyfully    repeated    : 

"What   did    1    promise   you,    eh?       Do    I    know     iheir    track?" 

Jean    said    to    his    mother,    in    a    low    voice    : 

"  Look,    mamnia  ;    she    is    coming  ! 

.Madame    Uoland    uncovered    her    eyes,    which    were    blintled    by    tears. 

Ilie  Liirraiiir  came  on,  steaming  at  lull  speed  since  she  had  lelt  the 
harbour,  under  I  he  lair  sky,  so  clear  and  calm.  lieausire,  pointing  his 
glass,     cried    : 

"Now,  look  out!  .Monsieur  Pierr(>  is  in  the  stern,  staniling  alone, 
well    in    sight.        i^ook    out  ! 

High  up  lii^c  a  inonnlain.  rapid  as  a  (rain,  the  vessel  at  length  s\ve[)t 
by    the    I'rr/c.     almost    lunching    her. 

And  .Madame  Holand,  (piite  overcome,  madly  strained  her  arms  towards 
it,  and  she  saw  her  son.  her  son  Pierre,  his  braided  cap  on  ln>  heail, 
waving  towards    her   his    farewell    kisses   with    both    hands. 


Ifi4  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

15ul  lie  was  going  away;  he  was  fleeing  from  her;  he  gradually  disap- 
peared. He  had  grown  diminutive,  blurred,  like  an  imperceptible  speck 
on  the  mighty  vessel.  She  strove  to  recognize  him  still,  and  could  not 
distinguish  him. 

Jean  had  taken   her  hand. 

"Did  you  see  him?"  he  said. 

"Yes,   I  saw  him.      How  kind   he  is!" 

They  turned  back   towards   the   town. 

"Jupiter!  What  a  pace  she  puts  on!"  Roland  exclaimed,  with  enthu- 
siastic  conviction. 

Every  second,  indeed,  the  steamer  grew  smaller  and  smaller,  as  though 
it  were  sinking  in  the  ocean.  Madame  Roland,  keeping  her  eyes  upon 
it,  saw  it  plunge  into  the  horizon  towards  an  uidcnown  land ,  on  the 
other    side   of    the  world. 

On  that  vessel,  whicli  nothing  could  arrest,  on  that  vessel  which  in  a 
minute  she  would  see  no  longer,  was  her  son.  her  poor  son.  And  it 
seemed  to  her  as  though  the  half  of  her  heart  were  going  with  him — 
seemed  to  her  as  though  her  own  life  were  ended — seemed  to  her  as 
though    she    wouhl    never    see    her   child    again. 

"What  are  you  crying  for?"  asked  her  husband.  "He  will  be  back 
in    a    month. 

"1    don't    know,"    she    stammered.       "I    cry    because    I    am    ill." 

When  they  had  lauded,  Beausire  Icll  ihem  at  once,  to  go  to  breakfast 
with    a    friend. 

Then  Jean  went  on  in  front  with  Madame  Rosémillv,  and  Roland  said 
to    his    wife   : 

"lie   is    a   line-built   fellow,   don't  you    know,    our   Jean!'" 

"Yes,"    said   the    mother. 

And  she  added,  too  dislurbeil  in  her  mind  to  think  ol  what  she  was 
saying  : 

'■  I    am   very  glad    thai    he   is    going    to   marry    Madame   i\osémilly." 

The    good    man    was   astounded. 

"Go    on!      What    do    vou    mean?      .Marry    Madame    Rosémillv?  ' 


THE     TWO     lîHOTIIERS 


165 


"Yes,    certainly.      We   were   going   to    consult    you    this   very    day." 
"What!      What!      Has    this  business    been   spoken    of   King?" 
"Oh,    dear    no!      Only    a    few    days.      Jean    wanted    to    be    sure    of    her 
consent   before  speaking   to    vou.  ' 
Roland    rubbed    his    hands. 

"Capital!  Capital!  This  is  excellent!  F'or  my  part.  I  perfectiv 
approve.'" 

As  they  were  about  to  leave  the  quay,  and  pass  into  the  Boulevard 
François  l^reniier.  his  wife  turned  round  once  more,  to  cast  a  parting 
gaze  upon  the  open  sea;  but  all  she  could  detect  was  a  lillle  streamer  of 
gray  smoke,    so    far    away   and    so    indistinct    that    it  looked    like    a    mist. 


-  •'Ktnmêt^'mmmm 


LIST 


ILLUSTIiVTIONS 


''I"' 


LIS1 


ILM  STRVTIONS 

The  fiill-|);igo  illustrations  arc  by  M.  A.  Lynch,  .iikI   th.-   lica.l   ami   tail-pieces  by    M.    K.    Dukz. 

I.     —    CH[>C    (Ic    la     Ili'VC    (Pi.geT). 

A  sea-excmsion  (To  fare  pagi-  12). 

The    steps    1)11     lllc    (,)liay    (T»  face  page  is). 
I'lic    lldlaiNS    visit    (  To  face  page  22). 

A  basUcI   of  lisli  (Page  2:). 


II.    _-   -rlic    I'oil    ;iiiil    ('.land    <hiay   (  Page  :)I  ). 
I'iorrc    lUl     llic    Jflly    (  To  r.we  page  S'l). 

Tlu'  sijrnallin"-  slatimi   on    llic  Jfllv  (I'ageSo). 


III.   —  Tlic    I'lil.lic  (iaidcii  (l>ago'.^). 

I'icnc  ill  tlio  Cafe  (To  ÙHC  page  :,o). 

Miiclamc    luiscmilK     |)l()|)nsin^-   a    loasl    (lu  fa<e  page  â(i)- 
111    llic    1  imdsli'ail   (Page  oil). 


TV.    —    Tin'    /'r/Vr    |)llltill!^-    ulll    lo    sea    (PageO:!)- 
I  lir     jcwclicl    s    sll()|)    (  Tci  face  pugo  CS). 
rllc    JcllV     al      lli^ill     (T.I   fare  page  72). 
rilr    iinllllnm^r    .111    Ihf   jelly    (Page  78). 


170  THE     TWO     BROTHERS 

V.   —  Troiivillo  (Pi.n,.  81). 

Tile    lilvCnCSS    (To  face  paye  84). 
I'llf    l)(M('tl    at    TrOUvillc    (To  face  jmgc  88). 

Jii  lln'  sliadc  (Page  yt;). 

>  I.    —   l,<nv  tide  (Pagc9'.i). 

Arrival  al   Saiiit-.Iouiii  (To  face  page  id'i). 

Shrim|)-lisllill{r    (To  face  page  lOS). 

Fisliiiij;  lacklo  (Page  114). 

VII.   —  The  sea  from   Sainlc-Adresse  (Page  in). 
N'isiling  Jean's  room  (To  face  page  120). 

The    confession    (To  face  page  126). 

In   the  harbour  (Page  132). 
VIII.   —  A   Transalhmtic  steamer  (Page  13.5). 

Louise    (To  face  page  138). 

The    betrothal    (To  face  page  I'ii). 

Sainte-Adresse  (Page  I'lS). 

IX.   —  The  Lorraine  leaving  port  (Page  i.^i). 

Pierre's  departure  from  home  (To  face  page  i.^fi). 

Farewell  !    (To  face  page  1(12). 

On   llie   sea  (Page  I6r>). 


THIS     EDITION 


THE    TWO     BUOTHEllS 


II\S     BEEN     PRINTED 


THE    ACCOMPANYING    PIATES     HAVE    ALSO     BEEN     EN(;R\VED    AND     PHINTED 


BOUSSOD,    VALADOX    &    G» 


IN      TIIKia      i:  ST  An  1. 1  s  II  M  F.N  r      at      ASMlCIt  KS-SU  n-SEIN  k 


IN    THE    VEAK    ISS'.I. 


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J>^ 


1     tlHÛL 


.  ■> j       Maupassant  - 
2349     Pierre  et  Jean 
P61E 
1889 


tlHQiRt    liUVl 


^  lybO" 


*P5 

23li5 
P^IE 
1889 


I  "xq 


!i 


